


On Grief and Dragons

by Bittercup



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Trying to make a healthy relationship happen between two assholes with a lot of issues, Well slowish at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittercup/pseuds/Bittercup
Summary: Annie and Butch, formerly mutual childhood bullies, now partners in crime and part of a two-person-one-dog gang. As they travel the wastes, they fill the moments between the action with bickering, jokes, heart-to-heart moments, serious discussions on who was the best kisser in Vault 101, how to deal with grief and whether dragons exist.





	1. Rivet City

"Well, if it isn't my best gal, the one who sprung me from the Vault! I think I owe this lovely lady a drink!”

 

At first Annie thinks she is dreaming. It had been a very long day after all, preceded by an equally long one and with only a few hours of sleep in between. The trip to Rivet City had really started as a detour on a whim for a chance to trade, but a miscalculated shortcut through a supermutant nest and a collection of bruises and scratches later, she was now both low on ammo and had lost half of the loot she was planning to flog. It was funny really, because during those few anxious hours of sleeping with one eye open, he had floated into her mind. Perhaps it was prompted by the far-too-large-for-her leather jacket she was using as a makeshift blanket, sleepily wondering whether he did manage to leave the vault after all, and what his chances of even making it to Megaton would have been, let alone further than that. And then, just like that, Butch DeLoria is standing right in front of her in the Muddy Rudder. Butch fucking DeLoria, shoving a large bottle of a murky brown liquid claiming to be whisky into her hands, expectant grin on his face.

 

"It's me? Butch? Most handsome man in the vault?" He tries, his smile increasingly unsure with every word, and she realizes she still has not said anything.

 

"Holy fuck! Butch!" It comes out with a laughter, sounding more relieved than she intended, but it is rewarded with a huge grin from Butch.

 

"Knew you'd get there in the end."

 

"Yeah, sorry about that, it's been a very long and rough couple of days. I was genuinely questioning whether I had started hallucinating. But… here you are."

 

But his focus is already on Dogmeat, who is happily trying to jump up to lick his face, then settling for a friendly scratch behind the ears.

 

“I missed you too, buddy.” He says as if they were lifelong friends reunited, rather than having only met briefly when Annie let him look after the dog for the fifteen minutes it took for her to go deal with the Overseer.

 

Without taking his attention away from Dogmeat, Butch motions for her to take a seat next to him on the rickety bar stool at the counter. As she sits down she takes a deep breath, inhaling the musty mixture of sweat and smoke and years upon years of spilled alcohol that is unmistakably the Muddy Rudder, bustling with life. Somewhere in the background, Belle Bonny is chiding one of the patrons for asking for a tab.

 

“I thought I was rid of you, you know.” She says, turning to Butch.

 

“No such luck, sucker! Life ain't worth living without Butch around, and you can't keep a Tunnel Snake down.” He is clearly a bit drunk, and in a very good mood. As little as she wants to admit it, it is infectious and she cannot help but crack a smile.

 

"So… I see you're still wearing my old jacket, Nosebleed" Butch says, and has now got one eyebrow cocked, almost as if in challenge. She knows he is trying to get to her by using his childhood nickname for her, but it ends up sounding almost endearing. The sheer familiarity of trading friendly insults with him has the tension of the last few days slowly leaving her muscles.

 

"It's a good jacket, Jerkface." She doesn't elaborate on that statement, but the truth is the leather jacket with the angrily hissing snake adorning its back has not left her sight since he gave it to her.

 

Out of the few things she brought with her from the vault, two things remain after a year on the surface. She had to abandon her trusty BB gun in favor of guns that could pack a punch against creatures bigger than radroaches, the baseball bat broke in half within a week and her vault suit had been more holes than fabric by the end of a month. His old jacket, and the worn photograph of her and her dad on her 10th birthday she keeps folded in the inner pocket, are the final vestiges of her former life.

 

She doesn’t tell Butch any of this. She unscrews the top of the bottle he bestowed on her a few moments earlier and takes a swig. "Eugh... that really burns". She tries to mask the resulting cough, but fails miserably.

 

"The Muddy Rudder's finest!" Butch exclaims with a short laugh. "I owe my freedom to you after all! So, here's to freedom and rocking the Wasteland! Drink up!" He raises his glass, its contents swilling violently as he clunks it together with her bottle.

 

"Yeah so about that, how did you get here? I thought Amata said it would be a while before she would open the vault? And after what I did..." Instead of finishing the sentence, she just raises her eyebrows as if to say _you know what I mean_ , which of course, they both do. Butch however, responds with a shrug.

 

"Same way anyone does. By being too cool to stop anywhere else! I didn't see a thing in the Wasteland that was a match for a bona fide Tunnel Snake.” Her silence and skeptical look is enough to get him to scale back on his ridiculous bravado. “It only took like three weeks before I could convince Amata we were ready to open up. I offered to do the first trip to Megaton to scout the situation, to see if it was possible to do some trading, as long as she would let me leave after that.”

 

“And then?”

 

“Short version: I got chatting to a few guys running a caravan between Megaton and Rivet City, asked if they needed an extra gun. Ran with them for a while, but I'm here to see if I can get a similar arrangement going again with a different caravan. Need some change, y’know, see a different part of the Wasteland for a bit." He punctuates that statement with knocking back his drink.

 

Annie happily refills his glass from her own bottle, before taking another swig for herself. It is almost pleasant now that she is used to the taste, and the warmth it spreads in her belly is more than welcome.

 

"Not bad, didn't know you were good with a gun."

 

"You'd better believe it! I should have gotten my hands on some of these earlier!" His cocky grin does not waver, but his response comes a bit too fast and is a bit too snippy to be entirely confident.

 

"Yeah I'll believe that when I see it." She knows all too well what he is like, but at the moment she does not care too much about protecting his ego. It’s better if it comes from her than him learning the hard way that you can’t boast your way through the Wasteland.

 

"Not that I've needed to use it much. Three trips total between Megaton and Rivet City and all I've gotten to shoot are some mirelurks. But at least every single one was killed with a perfect bullet right between the eyes." He says, affecting a sulking pout while flicking some crumbs off the counter.

 

"So is the outside world all you dreamt of?" For a second she almost wants to tell him to _chin up, it gets better, you get used to the crapsack world the Great War left behind_. His response is not immediate; he scans the crowd of drunken people, the worn floors and rusted metal, as if he is trying to find something to hang a bit of hope on. He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

 

"I mean, anything really is better than that hellhole and a life of being stuck doing the same thing forever. Nah, even now that Amata's in charge, you couldn't pay me to go back." His grin quickly falters when he sees her face, and he opens his mouth to backpedal, but she stops him.

 

"It's alright. I did kill her dad after all, it's... it is what it is." She does not meet his eyes when she says that.

 

"Yeah but you also did the right thing, he was crazy! That's why we rebelled! Amata chucking you out like that was a bit rough."

 

"Did Amata actually tell you what happened?"

 

"Well... You went to try to talk some sense into him, he wasn't having it, it led to an altercation, he lost. But you didn't go in with the intention to kill him. That sound about right?" The way Butch puts it, it sounds so simple, cut and dry.  Like she really had no other option.

 

"Yeah, more or less." It’s her turn to shrug now. Killing him had never been her intention, but she also had not expected him to react so violently to her showing up. She had become confident in her ability to convince and manipulate people in the Wasteland, using just a few well-chosen words. She had stupidly assumed the same thing would work with the Overseer; a power hungry man who had not only known her since before she could talk, but had disliked her and her father for that entire time. How could she have been so careless, just waltzing in and hoping to win him over with a smile and some logic?

 

"She wouldn't tell us what you talked about though." Butch says, breaking her train of thought and inflecting like it is a question, prompting her to tell him.

 

"Really? Hm.”  She pauses to collect her thoughts, and to take a few good swigs of the bottle that is now nearing empty. “Has she been a good leader to the vault?"

 

"I... you know I didn't really stick around for long so I can’t really say. I would have handled the situation differently, you know that, cause fuck living in that shithole of a bunker. But if you must keep the vault in operation I suppose I could agree with what she was doing. She was being fair and diplomatic." Butch drags out the last sentence, contemplating either what fair leadership looks like, or how little is left in his glass.

 

"Hm. But she still wouldn't tell you what I said to Overseer Almodovar?" Annie probes, which causes Butch to turn to her with an annoyed look.

 

"Was it something bad?" he asks in exasperation.

 

"I just tried to reason with him, saying that not only did you need to trade to stock up on supplies, but if new people weren't introduced to the vault population, we'd become inbred and struggle to survive, so it was time to open the vault... and that I knew that was the very reason they opened the vault last time."

 

Butch responds with a low whistle.

 

"And when was the last time?" he asks slowly.

 

"I wasn't even born in the vault! Dad and I arrived before I was old enough to even walk, the vault closed shortly after... like 2059 sometime? I couldn't find anything on the Overseer's computer, and that’s all my dad told me.” It is Annie’s turn to sound frustrated, as she leans forward to rest her face in her hands. “I really thought I could convince him, that he’d respond to reason."

 

"Do you... do you think my dad was someone from the outside? Or maybe he left before they closed? And couldn't come back?" Annie glances over at him through her fingers when he breaks the silence; he is staring straight ahead which makes it difficult for her to gauge any emotion from his face.

 

"I don't know... I couldn’t access any of the records. Did your mom ever say anything like that?" She answers hesitantly. He shakes his head and shrugs, but still does not turn to meet her eyes.

 

"Nah... Just a stupid thought that hit me. Forget about it, it's not like it matters."

 

"How did your mom take it when you said you were leaving the vault anyway?" She quickly attempts to shift the subject matter, but is met with a long pause from Butch. He exhales as if though he is deflating.

 

"She... didn't." He finally answers, turning to meet her gaze. "She died, just before the revolt broke out. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much when you came back, kinda felt more important to focus on the matter at hand and you had just told me about the Doc… so yeah, that’s why I didn’t mention it then."

 

"I'm really sorry, Butch." Suddenly Annie does not know where to look, but she mentally steels herself to not let his gaze go. He looks away after a second anyway, turning to his hands.

 

"Thanks. But yeah, there was nothing keeping me in the vault, mom gone, Paul gone, Wally being an asshole... so I figured it was time for me to try my luck elsewhere. And now I can finally bring the Tunnel Snakes to the Wasteland. And it'll be the toughest, coolest, badass-est gang the Wasteland's ever seen!" His cocky boasting would not fool even the drunkest Muddy Rudder patron, but Annie lets it slide this time.

 

"The Wasteland won’t know what hit it, you’ll take it by storm.” She says glumly, but after that she can’t think of more to add. Butch seems utterly engrossed by the bottom of his now empty glass. Annie decides it is time for retreat.

 

"Hey, thanks for the drink, but it's getting late and I should really head up to the hotel and sort out a room unless I want to sleep in the bar. It was really good to see that you're alive and doing well. Really good. I hope this isn't the last time we run into each other." She blurts it all out so that there isn’t chance he will have a chance to distract or stop her.

 

"You know, I've already got a room sorted. You could save yourself the caps and we could head up now, have another drink?" Nobody ever knew how to throw her off her keel quite like Butch. The confident, easy smile is back, eyebrow rising slowly as he waits for her answer.

 

She knows it would be a mistake to take him up on the offer, but the thought of her lonely hotel bed makes her want to slip up for once. The familiar, smug grin on his face puts a stop to those thoughts.

 

"Butch, are you propositioning me?" She says amused, and he shifts his gaze away.

 

"Can't fault a guy for trying.” He says lazily, shrugging. “Don't worry about it, I should probably get back to chatting up some caravan people, Rivet City is starting to outstay its welcome. It was good to see you though, Annie." He gives her a small salute and nod, before turning away toward the crowd.

 

"What have you been charging?" she blurts out, and he stops to slowly turn back to her. "As a hired gun I mean." He eyes her up and down, eyes squinting.

 

"150 caps and food per trip. Why?"

 

Her mouth gets going before she has a chance to think it through properly. "Well, I've got this... missing person case. There’s this small settlement north of Megaton, called Arefu, you ever heard of it? Anyway, I was approached by this woman in Megaton, she said she hadn't heard back from her family up there, and wanted me to deliver a letter. Well, I found the parents slaughtered, and her brother missing. She is paying me rather handsomely to find out what happened to him, but given the nature of the situation I could really use a second gun."

 

Butch does not respond to her rambling immediately, he continues his squinting evaluation of her person before slowly asking “What do you mean… the nature of the situation?”

 

“They had bite marks on their necks, from human teeth... and there was very little blood” She tries to not sound inappropriately excited about the weirdness of the case. “So… are you interested?”

 

"You want to hire me?" He says, surprised, the penny having dropped but he is not quite ready to believe it.

 

"Well I can't pay as well as a caravan, at least not in advance. If you helped me out with this I'd give you a share of the reward and any loot we find along the way."

 

"You want to partner up then?" His confidence is back, topped off with a smug grin.

 

"Well... more like travel together for a bit, make some caps and prevent either of us getting killed."

 

"Oh I know what this is about, you want us to be a gang, you want to join the Tunnel Snakes! Always knew the Tunnel snakes would ride again... or y’know, slither again. Whatever." His smile has somehow gotten even broader.

 

"That is not at all what I suggested."

 

"You may have the jacket, but I'm thinking you might be a bit too much of a goody two shoes for my gang anyway." He continues in mock contemplation as if though he has not heard her, making a show of staring off into the distance while pursing his lips and tapping his chin.

 

“You done?” She asks, eyebrows raised, considering whether it is too late to claim it was all a joke.

 

"50-50 split, reward and loot." He stretches out his hand to finalize the deal.

 

"70-30, I've been on the surface for much longer and am far more experienced, not to mention I got us the contract."

 

"60-40. Final offer." He shakes his open hand in front of her, as if though she must have forgotten it was there.

 

"70-30, and when we're in Megaton you can stay at my house. If you wish to stay on for another contract, we can renegotiate."

 

"You have a house in Megaton? How did you manage that?" There is genuine surprise in his voice, and his hand falls to his side.

 

"70-30?" Annie stretches out her hand, and does not have to wait even a second for him to grab it.

 

"Fine. Deal." She was expecting him to act like he was reluctant, but he sounds genuinely excited and shakes her hand vigorously. “Yeah... yeah! You'd be perfect for my gang! You're in!”

 

"Wow, remind me to not let you do any of the haggling when we sell the loot." She laughs. She feels relieved, like she had been holding her breath and is finally allowed to let it go.

 

"Now I'm thinking I might change my mind..." But despite what he says, he is still all smiles.

 

"A deal's a deal. We'll leave bright an early tomorrow morning." And with that and a triumphant smirk she turns on her heel and starts heading toward the stairs, Dogmeat close behind.

 

"See you then... fellow Tunnel Snake!" He shouts after her, fist pumping in the air as she discovers when she looks over her shoulder.

 

"Don’t push your luck. Night, Butch." She shouts back from the stairs, before slinking out the door.

 

Her hotel room is as cold and lonely as ever, but for the first time in months she falls asleep with a small smile on her face.


	2. Conversations on the Road (Part I)

 “How the fuck did you not starve to death before I showed up?”

 

“What are you talking about? I’m a good shot, you just saw me hunt those mole rats.”

 

“I’ve also just tasted your cooking. Annie, this is revolting.”

 

“It’s not that bad. And it doesn’t have to taste great to fill your stomach.”

 

“It also doesn’t have to taste so bad it makes me want to shoot myself.”

 

“Fine, don’t eat it then. Give it to Dogmeat.”

 

“Look, even Dogmeat hates it!”

 

“Stop being so dramatic, Butch.”

 

“Well, why hasn’t he touched it then? Look how sad he looks! That’s what your cooking does to people.”

 

“If it bothers you so much, cooking can be your responsibility from now on. I’ll do the dishes.”

 

“Gladly. See Dogmeat has already perked up at the thought of having my cooking instead, haven’t you, boy? You’re never going to have to eat Annie’s disgusting food ever again, oh no, you won’t.”

 

“You can take first watch then. I’m heading to bed.”

 

“Fine, but my man Dogmeat is taking it with me, who’s a good boy!?”

 

* * *

 

 

“You don’t have a lot of experience with explosives though, are you sure you can actually handle this one?”

 

“And you do?”

 

“I’ve got some yeah. I’m not saying you can’t come with me, but you need to hang back and leave the landmines to me, you’re no good to me dead or without limbs.”

 

“As if some landmines would scare me, we’ve been up against bona fide vampires!”

 

“They weren’t actually vampires though, were they, Butch? They were just humans drinking blood.”

 

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

 

“Vampires are mythological creatures, they get burned by sunlight and don’t have a reflection, and most importantly they don’t exist.”

 

“Well they were down in a tunnel and I didn’t see any mirrors, so how do you know they weren’t really vampires?”

 

“Cause we don’t live in a fairy tale?”

 

“Y’know, I heard there were dragons out here. You ever see one?”

 

“Who told you that bullshit?”

 

“Trader in Rivet City. So you ever see one?”

 

“This might be a longshot, but were you wearing your vault suit and talking about how you were on the surface for the first time when they told you this?”

 

“Maybe, I don’t know, I was pretty drunk.”

 

“They were having you on, Butch. Dragons do not exist. Like I said, we do not live in a fairy tale.”

 

“So you haven’t seen one then.”

 

“Because they don’t exist.”

 

“C’mon, how do you know dragons aren’t real?”

 

“Tell you what, if we ever see a dragon, I will run between Rivet City and Megaton, completely naked, dipped in radioactive waste, glowing so that I can be seen a mile away, with a big sign proclaiming how you were right. Deal?”

 

“If you want to get naked for me, feel free, don’t need to hang it all on losing a bet.”

 

“I don’t, and this is not a bet I will lose.”

 

“Suit yourself. What happens if I lose, not that I will?”

 

“You just shut up about fairy tale creatures, that’s all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire story started like this, just line after line of dialogue, and I've kept some chapters this way cause I'm trying to experiment with different ways of writing (also, I'm lazy). Also, I already hate the title I gave the story, but I had genuinely forgotten to think of one before I was ready to post.


	3. Megaton

They have just returned to Megaton after carrying out another scientific experiment on the behalf of Moira, one that resulted in a lot of mole rat meat they should be able sell to the Brass Lantern for a good chunk of change. Butch has still not made up his mind regarding Moira. Other than Dogmeat, Moira appears to be the only person Annie acts relaxed around, but she also seems a few screws short despite running a hardware store.

 

The Craterside Supply had been their first stop, and after giving Moira a detailed explanation of results of their experiment, Annie had chatted at length about improvements that could be made to her house. Not that Butch was paying much attention, how much was there really to say about beating mole rats to death with a stick? And the house was fine as far as he could tell, they had beds to sleep in, a functioning kitchen and bathroom. What else could they need? But it’s not his house, even though the guest room has quickly become his room, so instead of attempting to contribute to the conversation, he studies the inside of Moira’s shop.

 

Every single surface is covered in stuff. There’s boxes of sugar bombs, next to guns, next to piles of scrap metal, next to some old boots, next to a strange looking contraption cobbled together from what looks like old circuit boards and duct tape that he really hopes is not part of the next experiment. Whenever his eyes linger for too long, the grumpy looking mercenary standing by the workbench exhales loudly through his nose, just to remind Butch that he is being watched and trying anything would be supremely stupid. He wonders how much Moira is paying the man to stand there all day, watching every customer’s move while looking angrier than a supermutant caught in swarm of bloatflies. Maybe they’re a couple? He can’t avoid cracking a small smile at the thought, which is rewarded with a particularly loud exhale from the mercenary. Butch decides that must be the case, that or Moira has a mountain of caps stowed away underneath the shop. Why else would the man put up with her kooky ramblings?

 

His train of thought is interrupted by Annie calling his name.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I said that’s all we need for now, right?” She smiles at him expectantly.

 

“Yeah, sure.” He can trust that she has them well stocked up on ammo and stimpacks already, and all he really wants is to do right now is fall face first into his bed and not move for at least twelve hours. Anything she might have missed can be sorted in the morning. A quick trip to the Brass Lantern later and they are heading up the ramp to the house, bags several pounds lighter but their pockets jingling and full of caps.

 

“You know, you never did tell me how you managed to score this pad.” He says, as she fumbles with the key.

 

“I bought it.” She answers without looking up. The door swings open for them to be greeted by Wadsworth. Annie happily greets him back, whereas Butch simply mumbles in the robot’s general direction. While he has met a handful of Mr. Handy robots since leaving the vault, he still finds it hard to recognize the voice or demeanor as a different robot than Andy. The stupid piece of floating scrap metal had also had the gall to offer him a haircut in a chipper voice the first time they met, which had not gotten them off to the best of starts.

 

“Get out of town, no you didn’t. You barely have two caps to rub together on the best of days.” It’s true, the amount of caps they are currently carrying is considerably out of the norm, and probably more than he has seen all month.

 

“Maybe that’s because I invested all my caps in the house.”

 

“All the caps you just found lying around?” He says skeptically.

 

“Maybe I stole them?” Annie shoots him a sugar sweet smile while wringing off her boots.

 

“Highly unlikely. I know you, Nosebleed. You may act all tough, but we both know you wouldn’t steal more than the bare minimum to survive. And even then you agonize about it.” Circumstance had forced them to lift some supplies from a settlement they were passing through a couple of weeks ago, and he had not heard the end of it for days, no matter how many times he told her the settlers had been _creepy as fuck_ and _probably would have eaten us had we stayed the night_.

 

“Times were very dire when I first left the vault.” She shrugs her shoulders.

 

“Pfft. C’mon, tell me the truth.”

 

“Okay, okay. I won it in a raffle.” The sugar sweet smile is back, she clearly thinks she is so cute when she teases him like that.

 

“Nope, don’t buy it.”

 

“I single-handedly saved the entire town from raiders, the house was a reward.”

 

“Almost had me there but no.”

 

“Fine, okay. The truth is I just killed the previous owner, snuck in at night, slit his throat. After that it was just finders keepers.” She is unloading her bag in the kitchen now, so she misses how he rolls his eyes at her last obvious lie.

 

“I don’t know why I ever try to hold a conversation with you.” He says, yawning. His limbs are starting to feel like jello, and he realizes might actually fall asleep mid-step if he continues unpacking. “Anyway, I’m going to go pile some Z’s. Just wake me up when you think we should leave, my stuff is pretty much packed and ready to go.” He chucks his bag and boots onto the dining table, before climbing the stairs, two steps at a time.

 

“Hey Butch, want to know how I really got the house?” Annie calls to him just as he reaches the landing.

 

“Go on.” He turns and leans over the railing so that he can see her.

 

“The house really was a reward, I disarmed the giant nuke in the middle of town.” She looks up at him with a big, expectant grin.

 

“Get bent, Nosebleed.” He does not waste another second to reach his bed, and as he hits the mattress, descending into instant, dream-less slumber, he hears her happily shout: “Sleep tight, Jerkface!”

 

When he awakes, it is still pitch black outside. The display of his Pip-Boy blinds him with its green light as it tells him it is just after 3 AM. Annoyed to be wasting one of the few nights he gets to spend safely in his own bed, he attempts to fall back asleep, trying to conjure up a nice dream to sink into. But sleep will not come. He twists and turns, checks his Pip-Boy again a couple of times before he decides to head downstairs for a drink. At least the stupid robot can provide purified water whenever he might need it.

 

He takes extra care to be quiet as he descends the stairs, trying to not disturb Dogmeat who is curled up under the dining table. He grabs the can of water and starts slowly climbing the stairs again, but a noise that sounds like strangled wailing has him freezing in his tracks. It stops as soon as it starts, and has him wondering if his sleepy brain had simply imagined it. Dogmeat’s soft snoring continues without interruption. Butch continues up the stairs, but there it is again and this time he is sure he did not imagine it. He is also pretty certain it came from Annie’s room.

 

He holds his breath for a couple of heartbeats to listen for the noise again. There is no more strangled wailing, but there are sniffles, that while barely audible from behind the door, seem to cut through the darkness around him like razorblades. He knocks gently on her door. No response.

 

“Hey… is everything alright?” He carefully nudges the door open, to find Annie sitting on her bed. He can barely make out her face in the darkness, but when she speaks, her voice is thick with tears.

 

“Shit. Did I wake you?” She tries to sound casual.

 

“No, I just needed a drink. Are you okay?” He does not try to sound casual, instead his voice is lined with genuine concern. He has not seen her cry since… racking his brain, he realizes it must have been when they were younger than ten, and it was probably due to something he did.

 

“Yeah…” Her voice still sounds strained, but it also sounds like she wants him to leave, so he mumbles an apology and is half out the door when she speaks again. “Well, no. It’s just… sometimes I remember… my dad and how fucked everything is and then this happens…” Her breath hitches, and he can see how her tiny frame is shaking with each sob.

 

“You mean, crying?” He says softly as he moves to sit next to her, placing his can of water on the floor.

 

“It usually goes away after a couple of minutes.” She says after taking a deep breath.

 

“Okay.” He cannot think of anything else to say, so he puts his arm around her, rubbing her back just to have something to do. To his surprise she actually leans into his touch, and rests her cheek on his shoulder. A small wet patch starts accumulating on his t-shirt, but her sobs seem to be slowing down.

 

“You don’t have to stay.” She says in a small voice.

 

“I know.” He finds it difficult to read the tone of her voice, but when she doesn’t make any motion to pull away from him, he decides to stay put.

 

“I’m sorry… I’m not usually like this.” She mumbles.

 

“I know.”

 

The sobs wax and wane, but Butch stays in the same position, slowly rubbing her back when his arm starts feeling like it is about to fall asleep. Eventually her breathing evens out and he realizes she has fallen asleep. Moving slowly, he lifts her off his shoulder and carefully lays her down on the bed. In the sheen from his Pip-Boy, the time reads just before 4 AM, he tucks her in under the worn and stained bed linen. He hesitates for a second before wiping the wetness off her cheeks with the back of his hand, and carefully smoothing her hair away from her face. She looks so small like this. It feels like he is intruding on something private, something she was not ready to share, and for a second it feels like someone is wringing his heart out like a wash cloth. How often had she been crying herself to sleep without him even noticing?

 

He tip-toes out of her room and first after he has silently closed the door, he realizes that he left his can of water beside her bed. What follows is a few restless hours of tossing and turning, and dreams where he wanders the sprawling dark corridors of a vault he knows is 101, yet looks nothing like how he remembers. When the first rays of sunlight break the horizon, he heads down to the kitchen.

 

Annie joins him in the kitchen about an hour later. Her face is puffy, eyes slightly red, but if he hadn’t known she had been crying he would’ve just thought she was tired. There goes that tight feeling in his chest again.

 

“Breakfast.” He grunts, shoving a plate overflowing with fried Cram, Pork n’ Beans and a few deviled eggs for good measure. She slowly moves the steaming food around on the plate with her fork, while he eats at the stove straight from the pot.

 

“So about last night…” While he is glad she has spoken first, he dreads what is to come. She will tell him he overstepped, made her feel uncomfortable, and to stay out of her business. As well as they have been getting on while traveling, joking and bickering, a number of topics had quickly had lines drawn around them. Lines they simply did not cross. Her dad was one of those topics. His mom was another.

 

 “I’m sorry. I’m not like that usually, I must have been exhausted from spending so much time on the road…” She stammers, not meeting his eyes.

 

“Annie, it’s okay. I get what it’s like losing a parent.” He interrupts quickly, putting the pot of food aside.

 

“Right, sorry.” She mumbles. She still does not look up to make eye contact but continues shuffling her food around without ever putting any in her mouth. He knows she does not owe him any further explanation, but her silence enflames something inside him.

 

“After it happened, did you talk to anyone about it?” He did not mean for it to sound harsh, but it did.

 

“Talk about it how?” She is instantly on the defensive.

 

“Just like… how it made you feel, to process it?” He knows he should backtrack and apologize, but instead he keeps pushing.

 

“There wasn’t really anyone around to talk to.” She says flatly.

 

“Did you at least cry?”

 

“There wasn’t really time. We had to escape the Memorial, and then we were joining forces with the Brotherhood and I had to find the G.E.C.K., and I already told you about all of this.” The irritation in her voice is apparent now.

 

“Except for when you sometimes remember it and cry yourself to sleep?” That gets her to finally look up. Her cheeks are flushed with either fury or embarrassment, he can’t tell which.

 

“So?” It may have been a single word, but she spits it out with so much venom, Butch completely forgets this conversation started with him desperately wanting to comfort her.

 

“Fucking hell, Annie, you really are all brains yet no sense sometimes. In all those medical textbooks you’ve read, was there nothing about how to deal with grief and personal loss?” He starts dumping the dirty dishes into the sink with a lot more force than one should handle glassware and porcelain. For a second he has a bizarre flashback of his mom doing the exact same thing during an argument, pretending to be cleaning just so she did not have to look at his face while clearly just wanting to slam and smash things.

 

“Everyone mourns differently. I just want to move on with life.” She is almost hissing, trying to maintain her composure.

 

“And when you hit a wall? What then? You can’t move on if you never deal with it in the first place. You need to let yourself cry. And you need to talk about it.” Slam. Slam. Slam. He dumps water from the bucket into the sink so violently half of it washes over the edge and down the front of his shirt.

 

“With who? With you? Orphan to orphan?” She emphasizes the word orphan, drags it out, because she knows it stings as much for him to hear it as it does for her to say it.

 

“I don’t care if it’s me, Moira or the Children of the fucking Atom, you just need to talk about your fucking feelings instead of bottling it all up.” He says, resigned now. It is no use continuing this argument, so he hastily dries himself off and drops the rag on the floor before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door without so much as looking at her. “I’m going for a smoke.”

 

He has almost finished his cigarette when she comes out the door, Dogmeat excitedly following closely behind and completely misreading the atmosphere. She sits down at the small table with a huff.

 

“I slept like shit.” She says. It’s not an apology as such, but Butch decides to take it as one. He realizes he should probably apologize too.

 

“Me too.” He says and slides over the packet of cigarettes and the lighter.

 

“You’re right.” She says after taking her first drag and slowly blowing the smoke out of her nostrils. If it had been any other argument he would have gleefully jumped at the opportunity to say _I told you so_ , but instead he just looks at her with raised eyebrows. She looks out over the town that is slowly starting to come alive in the morning light. “But I’m not ready to talk about it yet. It hurts just thinking about him.”

 

She sounds so tired. For a moment he really wants to reach over and squeeze her hand, but the distance and the table in between them would make it awkward. He weighs his words carefully before continuing. “That doesn’t really go away. You just learn to deal with the pain and it somehow gets easier with time.”

 

“How?”

 

“Start small, focus on the good memories. You can deal with the rest later.” He says, feeling slightly more confident he actually has worthwhile advice to give. She is still looking anywhere but him, so he continues talking. “My mom was really good at playing cards, and she knew hundreds of different kinds of games. Whenever I had a nightmare as a kid, we’d stay up and play round after round until I was relaxed and tired enough to go back to bed. Sometimes we just stayed up all night, playing cards and chatting and then when I got to school, I would fall asleep in my bench as soon as class started.”

 

That gets her attention. When he catches her eye, he nods at her as if to say, _your turn_.

 

“My dad…” She starts slowly, but that is where it ends. “Sorry.”

 

“No need for apologies.” He replies gently.

 

“Sorry.” She says. The look of disbelief he gives her actually garners a small smile from her.

 

He continues talking. “My mom was really good at cooking. We’d always be low on rations by the end of the month, but I never went hungry. She would always manage to whip something amazing together even if there were only like two ingredients to work with.”

 

She finishes her cigarette, using the last drags to blow smoke rings his way that he lazily swats away. They are okay now, maybe even better in the long run, Butch thinks as he stretches in his chair to stand up. 

 

“My dad… He was really funny. He would always have a clever comeback whenever I complained about something, make me laugh and forget I was angry in the first place…” She turns to fully meet his gaze now, looking almost defiant. She stubs out the cigarette on the table. “We should head up to Moira’s, I forgot to stock up on stimpacks, slipped my mind yesterday.”

 

“I’ll be right behind you.”

 

 


	4. Conversations on the Road (Part II)

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you want me to give you a haircut?”

 

“Exactly how am I supposed to take that?”

 

“Like you’re spending all your time with a barber and you really need a haircut.”

 

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

 

“It needs a trim, the ends are all split, that’s why it gets so messy and tangled.”

 

“It’s barely noticeable.”

 

“I can see it from here.”

 

“Does it matter if I tie my hair up all the time though?”

 

“Well if it doesn’t matter, why don’t you just shave it all off?”

 

“Don’t think being bald would suit me.”

 

“Neither does split ends.”

 

“I just don’t spend a lot of time thinking about my hair, is all.”

 

“I’m the one that has to look at it all the time, just let me cut your damn hair.”

 

“Fine, never knew you’d take being a hairdresser so seriously after leaving the vault.”

 

“I know you’re just teasing, and I’m not going to bite, but I’m a _barber_ not hairdresser. There is a _difference_. Sit down while I get my scissors.”

 

“Now? I thought we were going to get an early start today.”

 

“Well this way, the next bunch of people we run into will recognize you as the fierce and intimidating Lone Wanderer they keep hearing about rather than think you’re some half-rotten ghoul that’s just crawled out of a sewer.”

 

“You’re the meanest hairdresser I’ve ever met.”

 

“ _Barber._ Now sit still or you might lose an ear.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“For fuck’s sake.”

 

“What?”

 

“We shoot all those robots just to be stumped by a fucking computer. Fuck you, Vault-Tec.”

 

“What, is it broken or something?”

 

“Just locked behind super-tight security. It’s no use.”

 

“Scoot, let the Butch-man have a look.”

 

“I’ve already tried to crack the password, it’s impossible, it’s locked itself.”

 

“As if that would stop Butch. Just a second...”

 

“What the fuck.”

 

“On a scale from one to massive nerd, how turned on are you right now?”

 

“How the fuck did you do that?”

 

“Just an old trick I discovered way back when I was trying to hack into the Overseers terminal.”

 

“You _discovered_ a… _trick_ to get a terminal out of lockdown?”

 

“Sure. Want me to just download all the information about the vaults onto my pip-boy?”

 

“How is this the first time I’m hearing of this? When did you get good at computers?”

 

“I don’t know, it’s not that difficult to understand how it works when you start rooting about in the programming, I’ve always liked messing about with my Pip-Boy.”

 

“Who are you and what have you done with DeLoria?”

 

“What, surprised I’m a hundred times better than you at something nerdy?”

 

“You failed pretty much every science test we had in school.”

 

“I had a reputation to maintain.”

 

“You say the dumbest things sometimes.”

 

“Do you want me to download it or not?”

 

“Download all of it, please, mighty computer guru.”

 

“Right so we’ve got locations and access codes for… 87.”

 

“Been there, that’s where the G.E.C.K. was, definitely not in need of further investigation.”

 

“92?”

 

“That’s where Agatha’s violin was.”                                                 

 

“Right, we know all about that one. Then there’s 101, no need to ever revisit that hellhole either. And 106?”

 

“106? Pretty sure I haven’t come across that one. Where is it?”

 

“Southwest of Arefu. There’s also a 108, very far east of Agatha’s house.”

 

“Definitely have not been to either of those. Is there anything at all on what they contain?”

 

“Nope, fuck all, just coordinates and an access code.”

 

“Anything on 112?”

 

“That’s not on here, which one is that?”

 

“That’s where my dad was being held, with the computer simulation, remember?”

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

“I’ve got the location saved so it doesn’t matter. So I’m thinking 112 should be our first stop, we know it’s empty and small so looting it should be relatively safe and easy, I’ve already done half of the work.”

 

“And then 106?”

 

“Yeah I guess. Although if we are heading out to 112 anyway, I’m thinking we should make a quick detour for some trading.”

 

“Where? I don’t have any settlements marked on my map that far west.”

 

“Oh they’re kind of secretive and isolationist, but I promise you the goods they carry are worth it.”

 

“What are you not telling me?”

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get along fine, you’re very much on the same mental level as the locals.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love that Butch has Science as a tag skill. Also, this is all just one big excuse to make them go to my favourite place in the whole damn series.


	5. Little Lamplight

“So when are you going to tell me where we are heading?”

 

They have been slowly trudging northwest after a relatively uneventful trip to Vault 112. Annie had put on a brave face, pretending like it was looting any other location but after a lot of prodding and asking the right questions, Butch had gotten her to talk in more depth about how she had found her dad there. He was getting used to the delicate balance between push and pull that was needed to get her to open up, and maybe he was imagining things, but it really did seem like it was to her benefit as well. She seemed to have just a bit more spring in her step, shoulders more relaxed, sleeping more soundly and most importantly, laughing at his jokes more often. Why she has to bottle her emotions up like that, he still doesn’t quite understand, but he is relieved she seems to be doing it less and less, even if she might not be aware of it herself.

 

“They call it Little Lamplight.” She says, peering back at him over her shoulder with a mysterious grin. It feels like they have been climbing this hill for ages, but the longer they keep going, the faster she walks and the better her mood seems.

 

“And?” He asks with slight irritation. This is the first concrete bit of information she has given him about where they are heading, the only other thing he knows is that they will be there _soon_. Everything else she has told him has been cryptic, said with a grin hinting at a joke he is not in on yet, a joke that is also probably at least a little bit at his expense.

 

“And what?” She says, cryptic smirk stretched across her face. If it had not been for the fact that it felt really good to see her in such a good mood, this would have been when he would have told her to fuck off.

 

“What’s the big secret?” He says exasperated.

 

“It’s more of a little secret.”

 

He gives up, she is practically bouncing up the hill now, so they must be getting close. He has decided he is going to let her enjoy this one, it is not like the other things she has a tendency to keep from him, he will be let in on the joke eventually and she seems to be looking forward to the big reveal.

 

He can see a shed now, and a big withered billboard portraying a happy mole in a bright yellow hardhat, huge playful letters spelling out “Lamplight Caverns”. There’s not a soul in sight, but that doesn’t seem to bother Annie. She turns around to face him, but continues walking backwards while indicating with her head toward an opening in the mountainside into which a string of lit lights disappears. She expectantly raises her brows, as if she has shown him a stairway to heaven and now wants him to agree with her how amazing it is. He doesn’t need to say anything, him furrowing his brow in frustrated confusion is enough to make her laugh. Turning on her heel she starts to head into the mountain down a long narrow tunnel. He shrugs his shoulders and follows.

 

“Stay right where you are.” An angry voice rings out.

 

They have just come around a bend in the tunnel, which Butch can now see ends with a wooden barricade. He cannot make out the face of the person who just spoke, but he can see a big military green helmet and more importantly the barrel of a rifle pointed straight at them. His hand instinctively grabs his pistol. Glancing over at Annie, she only lifts her hands in a half surrender, half shrug while continuing forward without even slowing down.

 

“What’s up, MacCready?” She shouts, and while he cannot see her face, he can tell from her voice her face must be split in the sunniest possible smile. _Who the fuck is this MacCready character and why has she never mentioned him before when he clearly makes her so happy?_

 

“When I said you could come here to trade it was because we trusted you wouldn’t give away our location. Who the fuck is this asshole?” MacCready shouts back, clearly a lot less happy with the situation. While his voice is confident and stern, it cracks slightly toward the end of the sentence. Putting his hands into a slightly more serious show of surrender, Butch follows Annie closer to the barricade and looking up at MacCready it now becomes clear they are dealing with a pimply kid wearing a far too large helmet.

 

“Hey, watch it, you little dork.” His hands are no longer up in surrender, instead he is pointing angrily in MacCready’s direction but Annie quickly grabs his hand and firmly lowers it while holding up the palm of her other hand toward MacCready.

 

“Calm down, you two.” She says, suddenly the pinnacle of patience. “MacCready, allow me to introduce Butch DeLoria, my traveling companion. We grew up together; I can vouch for his trustworthiness.”

 

MacCready looks skeptical, not taking his eyes off Butch, but at least he lowers his gun. Annie continues as if MacCready had just jumped up and given Butch a big, loving hug.

 

“Butch, this is Robert Joseph MacCready, mayor of Little Lamplight, so you better show him some respect while we’re visiting his town.” She winks at MacCready who is now slinging his rifle over his shoulder, looking considerably less surly.

 

“Mayor? You have got to…” Butch starts, incredulous, but Annie just gives his hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. Turning fully toward MacCready, she lifts up her backpack, waving it in his face.

 

“This entire bag is full of medical supplies I know Lucy would be very happy to trade for. You going to let us in or not? I promise you, you have no reason to worry about Butch.”

 

“Fine, but this better not come back to bite me in the ass.” MacCready disappears from the top of the barricade, but reappears as he opens a door in it to wave them in.

 

“It’s always about butts with you, isn’t it?” Annie laughs as she walks through, tipping MacCready’s helmet so it covers his eyes. MacCready pushes it back up with an angry huff, his face bright red, while mumbling something about going to see Lucy with them, just to make sure the trade is carried out properly.

 

“Jeez, look at that, you’ve finally gone and grown taller than me. You’re what, 14 and a half now? I didn’t get my growth spurt until I was like 17, and it didn’t exactly help anyway.” Butch follows a few steps behind the two as Annie babbles on, MacCready answering her gruffly.

 

As they walk through the warmly lit cave, Butch spots dozens of children and dogs, many of which stop to say hi to Annie while peering at him with unabashed curiosity. MacCready seems determined to get on with things, shushing them, stating they have _important trading_ to do and carrying on walking. More than once, Annie ends up shouting over her shoulder to the children that she will continue their conversation later.

 

“So where are the adults?” Butch asks as they reach a small building at the far end of the huge cave. Dogmeat has abandoned his side in favor of the other mutts, clearly he’s well acquainted with the place too.

 

MacCready does not answer him, instead he turns to Annie. “Was he dropped on his head as baby?” Annie just shrugs in response, prompting MacCready to turn to Butch. “Mungos are not allowed in Little Lamplight.” He says, enunciating like he actually thinks Butch might be a bit slow. Butch is racking his brain for a good comeback, but is interrupted by the door of the building opening to reveal a short, brown haired girl about the same age as MacCready.

 

“Annie!” She exclaims in the way all the inhabitants of Little Lamplight seem to do. This must be Lucy.

 

“She’s got medical supplies and wants to trade.” MacCready says, puffing up his chest a bit.

 

“No need to be so formal about it.” Annie says, shoving him out of the way and stepping inside the building. Butch hangs back, leaning against the outside wall, leaving Annie to loudly chatter with MacCready and Lucy inside. He would be lying if he said he did not feel at least a little bit left out, Annie having this comfortable and close relationship with a cave full of children that for some reason slipped her mind to mention to him. Well, the reason is pretty obvious, they are clearly very selective about who they let in, so she was just protecting them. Really, the fact that she has now brought him here is a sign she must think rather highly of him, Butch decides, and feels quite a bit better about the situation. He does not get the chance to mull over it more, because Annie comes barreling through the door with MacCready and Lucy in tow, exclaiming they are to go do something about an eclair.

 

Butch is not really surprised to find Eclair is a person and not a baked good. In what is clearly the dining area of Little Lamplight, Butch is rapidly introduced to numerous children with more names that are not actual names, causing him to instantly forget them all. He continues to hang back, but he does not feel left out anymore. As a matter of fact, he is enjoying watching Annie excitedly conversing with the children, wildly gesturing. Now that the initial shock of the sheer bizarreness of the place has worn off, he is starting to see why it appeals to her. There is something calming about the rocky ceiling above, but it is completely unlike the cramped corridors of Vault 101. And the kids, they’re not so bad after all, they seem to be interested in actually talking to her, rather than asking for favors.

 

“So is Annie your girlfriend then?” With his eyes trained on Annie, he had completely missed MacCready wandering up to him.

 

“What? What are you asking that for?” He splutters.

 

“I don’t know. You just seem tight.” MacCready says with a shrug, either unaware of Butch’s dumbfounded expression, or he just doesn’t care.

 

“Cause we’re friends.” Butch responds curtly, having regained his composure. _Who does this kid think he is?_

 

“Fine. Forgot I asked. No need to be such a dick about it.” MacCready says gruffly. In silence, they both watch Annie unpack a pile of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes in front of Eclair while repeatedly exclaiming “I insist!” and suddenly the penny drops.

 

“You’re not sweet on her, are you?” Butch says with a knowing smirk, but is disappointed to see MacCready’s reaction is confused rather than like he’s been caught in the act.

 

“On Annie? She’s nice and all, but she’s really fucking old.” He frowns bewildered. Butch has definitely not done himself any further favors in convincing the kid he is not actually stupid.

 

“I’m definitely going to have to tell her you said that.” Butch laughs.

 

“This is why we don’t allow mungos in. You’re all assholes. Only reason I didn’t shoot you on the spot was because you were with Annie.” MacCready’s answer might be blunt, but he says it with a toothy grin.

 

“C’mon, we’re _barely_ adults, I’m only 21.” Butch complains. Annie now has one of the younger children hanging off her arm, Bibble or something, appearing to be showing her how she has lost a tooth.

 

“If you’re over 16, you’re a mungo.” MacCready says, as if he was stating the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“So what happens when the mayor turns 16?” Butch shoots back.

 

“I leave. Those are the rules.” MacCready does not seem the slightest upset about the prospect, but Butch can’t help but be a bit taken aback.

 

“Fuck, that’s harsh.” MacCready just shrugs in response. “Those are the rules, I get it.” Butch says before MacCready can continue. His eyes wander back to Annie, who is now laughing at something a girl wearing a police hat has said. She suddenly turns to point toward him, the girl in the police hat eyeing him discerningly across the room. He raises his eyebrows in question, but Annie just gives him a beaming smile while waving. He waves back, shooting back a lopsided grin, which seems to please the girl in the police hat.

 

“So if you grew up together, why weren’t you with her before?” MacCready asks bluntly.

 

“Did she tell you how she ended up escaping our vault? It wasn’t exactly planned.” Butch sighs, _what’s with this kid giving him the third degree?_ “I wish I could have come with her then, but it was messy and I’m not sure she would have let me come along anyway.” He really doesn’t want to have to relay the entire story, especially since a big part of it isn’t really his to tell and he’s not sure exactly what Annie has told people.

 

“Why not, I thought you were friends? When I turn 16, Lucy is leaving with me even if she isn’t turning 16 for another month and a half.” MacCready puffs out his chest, and again the penny drops for Butch, and he’s pretty sure he’s right about his observation this time.

 

“So… is Lucy _your_ girlfriend then?” He says, trying to restrain the teasing tone in his voice.

 

“No.” MacCready replies with a surly scoff, which Butch has come to learn is to be expected no matter the question. But the way MacCready is watching Lucy count the faintly glowing mushrooms laid out on the counter seems less of mayoral concern, and more wistful.

 

“But you like her?” Butch presses.

 

“No.” And with one curt word, MacCready has convinced Butch he is definitely on the right track.

 

“C’mon, I swear I won’t tell anyone.” He tries using the voice he uses on Annie when she claims she’s _fine_ for the hundredth time while clearly on the verge of tears.

 

“Maybe a little bit. If you tell anyone, I will kill you.” The glare MacCready shoots Butch before turning back to watching Lucy count the fungi makes it clear he intends to follow up on his threat.

 

Butch raises his hand in surrender, in earnest this time, while smiling widely. _He fucking knew it!_ He actually feels for the kid, he knows exactly what it is like to be fourteen and having your first crush. “I don’t doubt that. So what’s holding you back, man?”

 

“What do you mean?” MacCready tears his eyes from Lucy.

 

“Why don’t you just tell her you like her?” Butch says. He knows that fourteen year old Butch would have scoffed at that advice, convinced silly antics and hair pulling was the best way to get a girl’s attention. But even back then he probably knew that was not going to work in the long run.

 

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?” MacCready asks, the gruffness still present but undercut with hesitation. Butch focuses on watching Annie fish a bottle of Nuka-Cola out of her backpack to hand over to one of the boys, who whoops loudly, while he tries to think of something good to say.

 

“You’re the mayor!” Is what he settles for, _building the boy’s confidence up a bit should help, right?_ “The chicks here must dig that, right? I bet at least half of them have a crush on you.” MacCready looks skeptical at that, so Butch decides to tone it down a bit. “Just ask her, what’s the worst that could happen?”

 

“It would just make things weird between us.” MacCready says dejected, pushing the dirt around with the toe of his shoe.

 

“For a while maybe, but you’ve got a solid friendship, if the crush isn’t mutual you should be able to move past it.” Butch argues, only half convinced, unsure whether he should backtrack a bit. He just wants to give the kid the kind of advice he would have needed when he was that age, but he does not want wreck an important friendship by moving too fast either.

 

“So why haven’t you told Annie you like her then?” Maybe MacCready genuinely believes what he is saying, or he has just figured out it is a good way to get a reaction out of Butch, either way it is clear he is done talking about his feelings for Lucy.

 

“Because I don’t like her like that? What’s wrong with you, kid?” Butch spits angrily, already forming detailed questions in his head about why on earth anyone would think he had feelings for Annie, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask them because Annie herself is now sauntering up to them.

 

“I’m so happy to see you boys getting along. What are you talking about?” She says.

 

“Guns.” Says MacCready.

 

“Dogs.” Says Butch.

 

“… Okay.” Annie looks like she’s considering calling them out on their obvious lies, but quickly lets it slide and turns to Butch. “Well, we’re done trading for today, so we better head off so we can reach shelter before it gets too dark.”

 

“You got enough cave fungus?” MacCready interjects.

 

“Oh yeah, don’t you worry about us, MacCready.” Annie responds, her smile softening as she adds “You know, you’re an absolute star for setting this trade deal up. We’ll be back when we come across more supplies that might be of interest to you.”

 

Annie puts her arm around MacCready’s shoulders, just about able to reach that high, and gives him a friendly squeeze, leaving MacCready red-faced and flustered. Annie continues to fuss over him for a bit, but Butch’s attention is on Lucy who has been following the scene from across the room, with a tight-lipped expression on her face. A bubble of warmth expands in his chest, and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. _Now that’s what jealousy looks like!_

 

Annie finally done with her goodbye, Butch turns to MacCready and gives him a quick pat on the shoulder saying “Take care.” Waiting for Annie to have turned and started walking away before quickly adding: “And take my word for it, kid, you should definitely just tell her.”

 

Dusk descending, they are only a few paces away from the abandoned gas station Annie has selected as a camp site for the night. They have been walking in relative silence until now, Annie occasionally humming some tune Butch faintly recognizes from GNR, but mostly he has been stuck with his own thoughts. MacCready putting ideas into his head about what Annie means to him is the last thing he needs, he decides. _What they have right now is good._

 

Running with the trader caravans, there were always many people around, yet he has never felt lonelier than he did then. This arrangement, partnership or whatever, he has with Annie is the opposite of his brief time as a caravan guard.  Most of the time it is only the two of them, and Dogmeat of course, but he somehow never gets sick of talking to her. It is a relief finally being able to talk about his mom, about Paul and about 101 to someone that actually gets it.

 

They had started to get on really well in the last few months before she left the vault, he would definitely have counted her as a friend, but what they had then isn’t really comparable to how tight they are now. Sure, he’d casually flirt with her, but that was just to get on her nerves, it didn’t actually mean anything.

 

She sneaks a look at him over her shoulder just then, probably just to check he is still there, and as they lock eyes she flashes him a pretty, wide smile before turning away again. His heart aches a bit at the realization of how happy it makes him to see her that happy, and what he wouldn’t do to make sure she was always like that.

 

“So, Little Lamplight was pretty cool.” He says, to distract himself from where his train of thought seems to be heading. Annie slows her pace slightly, falling back so they are now walking side by side, she looks over at him, and there it is again, that smile. Butch fixes his eyes on the gas station that is their goal. Dogmeat has run ahead, sniffing the ground outside the building before barking happily. 

 

“Yeah, they’re good kids. I can’t help but dote on them, the cave fungus saves us a lot of caps on RadAway and Rad-X, but the deal is definitely skewed in their favor.” She shrugs as if caps isn’t of concern to them anyway, and adds “You and MacCready seemed to be getting on like a house on fire.”

 

“He’s a cocky little shit.” Butch responds, not without affection.

 

“Hah, he really reminds me of you sometimes, you know.” Annie says with a laugh as they reach the dilapidated building.

 

“Me?” Butch says with disbelief, but Annie shushes him and indicates for him to check around the back while she carefully opens the door, gun drawn just in case. He makes a quick loop around the building and the broken gas pumps, there’s not even a mole rat in sight. He holsters his gun and ducks in through the open door to find Annie pushing an old motorcycle out of the way to make a clearing in the middle of the small room. He heads over to help her, checking the motorcycle for the infinitesimal possibility that it might still be in working condition. He sighs with completely expected disappointment when he finds it is about as likely to ever run again as it is to suddenly sprout wings and fly. Annie has started unpacking food rations, Dogmeat curled up beside her, clearly content with the choice of camp.

 

“MacCready reminds you of me?” He says while taking a seat across from her. He didn’t dislike MacCready, but he also failed to see any resemblance between the two of them.

 

“Yeah, both far too mouthy for your own good. Stubborn too.” Annie shrugs and adds with a teasing grin “He’s definitely cleverer than you though, not as foolhardy.”

 

“You say that, but do you know what he said about you?” Butch says, deciding he is tired of being the butt of this joke.

 

“What?”

 

“I thought maybe he had a bit of a crush on you, but he said you were nice but too old.” He laughs. “The exact words used were: _really fucking old._ ” He drags out the last part, Annie’s pout making him laugh even more.

 

“Punk.” She mutters. “I’m pretty sure he’s got a thing for Lucy though, those two are thick as thieves.” She gives him a conspiratorial look, making it clear she has a small sense of what the conversation she had interrupted had been about.

 

“My lips are sealed.” He did promise after all.

 

“Aw, were you giving him advice on his love life? Who knew you were such a cupid, DeLoria?” She is overjoyed at the confirmation, happily chucking him a can of Pork n’ Beans as if though it is a treat he has earned for being a particularly good boy. Dogmeat raises his head, expecting a treat for him as well, which he does receive.

 

“Hey, I know a thing or two.” He quickly steers the subject in a different direction, before she asks more questions about what was said. “How did you manage to get them to let you in in the first place? They don’t seem particularly keen on strangers or adults.”

 

“I’m just good at talking with kids, a lifetime of talking to you made sure of that. I may have also rescued some of them from slavers…” She thoughtfully chews a spoonful of the Pork n’ Beans, adding “And then there is the fact that I cleared Vault 87, which you’ll notice is located right behind the cave, if you take a look at the map in your Pip-Boy.”

 

“Fuck.” He says as he does as she suggested, the newly logged location of Little Lamplight sitting pretty much right on top of the Vault 87 one he had downloaded from the Vault-Tec Headquarters. He hadn’t realized they were that close as he had let her lead the way there.

 

“Yeah. So that all kind of further endeared me to them.” Her face softens and she sighs. “I can’t help but fuss over them, they’ve got a good little community going and it will be all too soon before they have to face the fact that Big Town isn’t exactly Fat City, and in fact, the whole Capital Wasteland is a shit place to live.”

 

Butch hums in agreement. They leave it at that, and finish their cans of food while taking turns to throw chunks of dried mole rat meat to Dogmeat who skillfully catches them in the air before looking at them expectantly, wanting to hear the magic words confirming he is indeed a very good boy. They tell him so repeatedly.

 

“So you know how they’re all kids in Little Lamplight?” Butch asks as he absentmindedly scratches Dogmeat behind the ears, who has come to rest his head on his lap now that they’ve run out of mole rat chunks.

 

“Yeah, that’s sort of their thing.” Annie is carefully packing away the remainders of the rations, keeping careful tabs on how much they have left. She starts getting their bedrolls out.

 

“Where do all the new kids come from?” Butch continues, as he gets up to help her unroll them, Dogmeat whining about being forced out of his comfortable position.

 

“Oh boy.” Annie stops in her tracks, clearly struggling to keep a straight face. “You know how boys and girls have different parts? Well, when a boy and a girl like each other very much…” She trails off, giving into laughing. He rolls his eyes at her.

 

“You’re a panic and a half.”

 

“Well it seems people around the wasteland know there is a safe place up here somewhere to drop off a baby they can’t care for.“ She says when she has finally collected herself. “Half of them are probably the kids of raiders and settlers down on their luck. Seriously though, they don’t leave until they’re 16, some of them are just born there.”

 

“Imagine if you had a kid at 15, you’re still a kid yourself then.” Butch scrunches up his nose at the thought.

 

“As if your balls had even dropped then.” Annie teases. He pouts and sticks his tongue out. With the bedrolls in place, they coax an old cabinet in place in front of the door. This way they will both be able to get a full night’s sleep. Even though it is unlikely anyone will disturb them this far out in the middle of nowhere, they’d rather not leave anything up to chance. Wiping off the dust from the old cabinet on his pants, a thought suddenly hits Butch.

 

“Do you want kids?” He asks her. She seems taken aback, not having expected the question. She eyes him curiously in the low light before answering.

 

“Back in the vault I thought so, but out here…” She purses her lips, considering how to continue. “I don’t know, sometimes it seems like it would just be mean to bring anyone else into this world. What about you?”

 

“I want loads of kids, enough for a gang.” He shoots her a lopsided grin, and lies down on top of his bedroll.

 

“Is that your new recruitment strategy for the Tunnel Snakes?” She laughs. He can hear her shuffling about, organizing her things before lying down on her bedroll about an arm’s length away from him.

 

“Oh yeah, imagine all the little Butchies running around, raising hell, teasing all the little Annies.” He laughs, turning on his side so he can see her in the faint green light provided by their pip-boys.

 

“Poor little Annies.” She says, copying his motion.

 

“You know as well as I do, they would be equally bad, just with worse hair.” He points out and she doesn’t protest, just scrunches up her nose. As he says it, he can see it clearly, miniature versions of the two of them, him pulling her hair, her pulling his, and he smiles at the thought. But the vision quickly morphs into young Butch writing the most offensive words he could think of on the vault walls just to be destructive, sneaking cigarettes in a maintenance cupboard, constant chiding from pretty much every adult in the vault, and coming home to an apartment covered in empty bottles and dishes left from the week before.

 

“Or maybe not, I should probably wish the complete opposite of my childhood for my children.” He says, turning to look at the cracks in the ceiling again.

 

“You turned out alright in the end though.” Annie says tentatively after a few beats.

 

“Did I?” He asks but continues without waiting for her response, “There are so many times I look back to and I wish I had acted differently, and even more where I came very close to doing something very stupid.” Annie is not responding, but as he turns his head, he sees she is looking at him with keen attention in her eyes, a small crinkle between her eyebrows. She nods at him to continue.

 

“You know, I both envy the Little Lamplight kids and feel sorry for them.” He says.

 

“How so?”

 

“My mom, she did love me and god knows she tried to be a good mom,” He takes a deep breath. “But I don’t think she actually ever wanted to have kids. I wasn’t always easy to deal with, but a lot of the time she just didn’t seem to be able to muster the patience it takes to deal with kids on their level.”

 

“Butch, I…” She is blinking rapidly, face in a pained expression, trying to think of the right thing to say when there really is none.

 

“It’s fine, it was just the way it was.” He waves his hand dismissively, as if that makes it alright. “The Little Lamplight kids, on one hand they don’t get to experience having a parent that loves them, but they probably weren’t wanted in the first place anyway. So growing up there instead, they are removed from how shit it is having to be a constant disappointment to your parent, and having your parent be a constant disappointment to you.” He sighs, her facial expression has relaxed somewhat but she remains quiet, so he continues talking.

 

“When I have kids of my own, I’m not going to be like my mom. Or my dad for that matter. I’m going to be around and I’ll let them know they’re wanted. Actually listen to what they want and not dismiss it as stupid kid shit.” He says, adding as an afterthought “Definitely going to kick the booze as well.”

 

There’s a sudden shuffling noise from Annie’s side, and Butch turns his head just in time to see her stretch her hand out to give his shoulder a squeeze. She lingers for a second, before pulling it back into her bedroll.

 

“I think you’ll be a really good dad, Butch.” She says quietly, and with that he drifts off into dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh MacCready, my beloved little shithead. As much as I enjoyed romancing him in FO4, I would gladly have traded that for knowing him and Lucy were okay :(


	6. Conversations on the Road (Part III)

“You know, this do-gooder crap is for the birds.”

 

“So he couldn’t pay up in the end, but if we are ever in these parts again, we will be guaranteed a safe place to stay or a meal if we need one.”

 

“You’d trust that slimy punk to honor his end of that bargain?”

 

“We did save his farm from yao guais, I can’t imagine he’d forget that.”

 

“Yeah but he also claimed there would be a pile of caps waiting for us, and that there was only one wounded, old yao guai, not three young _hungry_ males. What’s to stop him from claiming he’s never seen the sight of us before, and just tell us to get the hell off his property? Face it, Annie, we got played.”

 

“I admit it didn’t work out completely as planned, but it will still contribute to our reputation as people you can count on when in need.”

 

“You mean absolute schmucks you can count on risking life and limb for you and wasting god knows how much ammo, while you put your feet up and don’t have to spend a single cap?”

 

“Fine, but what were we supposed to do? Just let those yao guai ravage their farm? There were young kids around, he probably did it because he had to.”

 

“No, but…”

 

“But what, we got some pelts and meat out of it, we can make some good caps from that.”

 

“Would have been even better caps if you hadn’t left half of it on that farm.”

 

“They needed it. We wouldn’t have been able carry it all with us anyway, and we are not starving. What’s your problem with doing a bit of good?”

 

“You can’t trust people out here, I don’t want you to get taken advantage of.”

 

“Well you can trust _me_ , I’d rather be taken advantage of a few times than see people starve if I can help. We can’t all be out for ourselves all the time like you.”

 

“You know that’s not fair. I look out for my own, I look out for _you_. You just can’t expect me to look out for every gutter rat or lost dumbfuck that’s decided to wander into the wasteland with only a stick for defense.”

 

“And that’s what’s wrong with the Capital Wasteland. If everyone wasn’t so busy to look out for themselves, maybe we could actually build something worthwhile.”

 

“ _I’m_ what’s wrong with the wasteland? You’re the one who is going to get us both killed with your idealism.”

 

“Where would you have been if I hadn’t decided to take you under my wing?”

 

“I would have been a caravan guard, and I would have been fine. You were the one that needed an extra gun, those vampires would have exsanguinated you dead if I hadn’t been there.”

 

“Exsanguinated is an awfully big word for you.”

 

“What, I read.”

 

“You left out the bit where you would have been drinking your brains out due to crippling loneliness.”

 

“I would have had caravan guard friends that would have had my back, probably a dolly or two in each town. I wouldn’t have been lonely.”

 

“You say that as if it is a given. How many friends had you made before we joined forces?”

 

“I would have made some eventually, I would have needed to.”

 

“So you agree that people are better off when they have other people to turn to.”

 

“Well yeah, nobody wants to be alone, especially in the wasteland.”

 

“So what’s wrong with that on a bigger scale, people coming together to create a safe community?”

 

“Sure… but…”

 

“But what? Admit I’m right.”

 

“But that’s different from risking your life for strangers that do nothing in return.”

 

“Is it really though? The way I see it, you need to start somewhere, helping strangers is one way.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“That puddle of radioactive waste is particularly glowing, isn’t it?”

 

“Lay off already, DeLoria.”

 

“What? I’m just stating a fact.”

 

“Sure you are.”

 

“And if someone for some reason needed to paint themselves in it for a leisurely run between Rivet City and Megaton…”

 

“For the last time, Butch, that was not a dragon.”

 

“What was it then?”

 

“It was a deathclaw.”

 

“And how is a deathclaw not a dragon?”

 

“What do you mean, how is it not a dragon?”

 

“Big scary lizard thing with big claws and teeth. How is that not a dragon?”

 

“Don’t dragons breathe fire and fly?”

 

“How do you know deathclaws don’t?”

 

“Nobody has seen them do it.”

 

“Yeah but most of the time, people run in the opposite direction when they spot a deathclaw. Maybe they do breathe fire, just nobody’s seen it.”

 

“Wouldn’t we find more charred corpses then?”

 

“Maybe they just breathe fire on things to cook them before they eat them, so you wouldn’t find a corpse at all.”

 

“Right, tell me this then. There is no record of dragons in the pre-war world, they only exist in fairy tales. Where did they come from? They’re probably just regular lizards that have been exposed to radiation, evolving into larger scarier lizards, so that makes them lizards not dragons.”

 

“Crazy scientists bred them… or maybe _Chinese_ crazy scientists bred them for the war? I’m pretty sure I read something about how the Chinese liked dragons.”

 

“Yeah but they would still not be dragons, they are big scary lizards.”

 

“But that’s what I’ve been saying, dragons _are_ big scary lizards.”

 

“So we are arguing semantics?”

 

“I’m arguing you should strip and take a dip in that puddle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw Butch, so close, yet so far with his tinfoil hat theories.


	7. Vault 106

The wind is completely knocked out of her as she hits the ground, and for a second she is seeing stars. Her entire body aches and her ears are ringing; just turning her head is a struggle at first. At the other end of the room she can see the dead bodies of Wally and Paul, dressed in their Tunnel Snakes jackets, glassy eyes staring yet unseeing. _I shot them_ , she thinks, the emotion that should come with that thought not quite sinking in. She can see Butch moving in the periphery of her vision, but her brain feels so sluggish she doesn’t even flinch when he launches at her, throwing his hands around her throat.

 

“Please, Butch, don’t, please” She pleads, but he just laughs, manic grin plastered across his bruised face. She tries to pry his fingers off, gently at first, because despite it all she doesn’t want to hurt him, but he just tightens his grip. _It’s not him_ , a small voice inside her head is telling her, but his roaring laughter drowns out everything, and her vision is starting to fade. _It’s not him_ , the voice screams, and the hand she hadn’t even realized she was stretching out reaches metal.

 

The bullet hits him right between the eyes, his hands instantly releasing their grip, and his body sagging to the side. She just lies there for a second, her vision swimming, slowly letting the fact that she just killed Butch register. Her stomach lurches violently and she pushes Butch’s body off her, shooting up to empty the contents of her stomach.

 

That’s the position Butch finds her in when he barrels through the door with Dogmeat in tow a few seconds later, hunched over, spewing her guts out and hyperventilating.

 

“Annie! Are you hurt? What the fuck just happened?” He shouts, voice laced with panic as he runs over to her. She doesn’t respond, just looks at him like she has seen a ghost, then she slowly looks over at the body next to her. Where Butch laid dead a second ago is now an unfamiliar, scrawny man dressed in lab coat on top of a vault suit reading 106. Half of his face has been blown off. She looks around the room for Wally and Paul, but their bodies are gone, like they never existed in the first place. She slowly turns back to Butch, who is alive and now kneeling in front of her.

 

“I was attacked…” She starts, but trails off because she doesn’t know how to continue after that. Butch gently wipes the vomit off her face using the sleeve of his jacket, then starts to frantically check her for injuries.

 

“I’m fine.” She says as he pats her down, “The blood is his.”

 

“Don’t you ever fucking run off like that ever again.” He enunciates every word, eyes wide and sternly holding her gaze. It doesn’t escape her notice how his voice breaks, or how he tries to cover it up.

 

“I thought I saw…” She starts weakly.

 

“It doesn’t matter what you thought you saw.” He interrupts. “There’s something really fucked up going on in here, I think there’s something in the air. We need to get out _now_.” And with that he hoists her off the ground, drags her out of the room and down the dark vault corridors, while keeping one hand on the wall and the other in an iron grip around her arm.

 

Annie is just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, mind still too foggy to do anything else. When they reach the vault door, Butch pushes her out of it so hard she tumbles to the ground, dragging him with her.

 

They stay on the ground, lying down and panting in silence for a good ten minutes. Never has the fresh air felt so good, and with every breath the fog slowly lifts. Dogmeat sniffs around seemingly unaffected, whining with concern when Annie doesn’t get up to pet him. Looking over at her Pip-Boy, she realizes they haven’t even spent an hour down in the vault, even though it feels like much longer than that. Butch gets up and starts stretching his legs, but Annie can’t muster the will to move a single limb, it feels like someone has actively sucked every ounce of energy out of her system. So she just remains on the ground, listening to Butch pacing around and rooting in his bag.

 

“What are you doing?” She asks weakly when she hears him scribbling furiously.

 

“I’m writing a note to leave by the entrance.” He says, and then gets up again and stomps over to the entrance. “So that the next poor schmucks that come this way don’t make the same mistake we did.”

 

If only there had been some sort of warning of what to expect inside. She supposes that they shouldn’t have been surprised, given what they have learnt of Vault-Tec’s practices for far. They thought they had been cautious; checking the terminals by the entrance for clues of any experiments or foul play. The place had simply looked abandoned so they had happily continued deeper into the vault without a clue. First Butch had complained about a smell, but he always did, so she hadn’t paid it any mind. Then the light-headedness had started, and before she knew it she had been chasing her dad, who she was fully aware was dead, down the corridors. How could she have been so stupid, giving into the hallucinations that easily?

 

Her thoughts are interrupted by Butch leaning down over her, extending his hand to help her up. Her limbs feel like lead, and Butch must be feeling it too because he groans loudly as he helps her up. He eyes her with concern while dusting the dirt off her.

 

“I don’t think we should attempt moving far before whatever this shit is has been fully flushed out of our systems.” He says, still not taking his eyes off her. She responds with a short nod. “We passed a shack on the way here, probably only a few minutes away. Can you walk?” She nods again.

 

They slowly make their way to the shack, Annie trying not so stumble, and Butch constantly keeping a hand ready to steady her if needed. She feels like her brain has been wiped, and she can’t find a single word to say, but it doesn’t matter because Butch seems to have found enough words for the two of them. Most of them are swearwords. Some directed at themselves for not getting out as soon as their vision started getting wonky, at her for just running off, and at himself for not reacting quickly enough and following her. Some directed at the inhabitants for not leaving any signs that the place is a deathtrap, even though he admits they must have been preoccupied. But most of the swearing is directed at Vault-Tec.

 

“Fucking playing with people’s lives like that. Who gave them the fucking right?” He mutters just as they reach the shack. It looks sturdy enough, and when they look inside they find it even has a mattress which Butch insists she takes a seat on straight away. He continues to dote on her, checking up on her once every minute while setting up and securing their camp. Somewhere deep down she feels grateful for his concern, but at the moment she just finds it exhausting and wishes he would go away so she can be alone and go to sleep.

 

“You’re shivering.” He says gently, and carefully drapes his jacket around her shoulders. For a brief second, his hands brush close to her neck, and she can’t stop herself from flinching. Butch snatches his hands away, like he has been burned, but if it hurt his feelings it doesn’t show in his face. He slowly sits down next to her, but leaving a bit more distance between them than normally.

 

“You saw your dad, didn’t you?” He asks, not taking his eyes off her face.

 

“Yeah. Did you see him too?” She breathes. It is the first sentence she has said since they started making their way toward the shack, and it takes all her energy, but talking makes her feel a little bit more awake.

 

“No, but you were shouting for him as you ran off. I tried to follow you, but you just disappeared. And then shit got even weirder, the walls were talking, doors that were there a second ago just disappearing…” He gestures wildly as he talks. While she feels completely drained, his adrenaline has clearly not stopped pumping.

 

“How did you find me?” She says as she sinks onto her back, the damp and lumpy mattress embracing her like an old friend.

 

“I just started searching the vault methodically. It’s a bit hazy, but I think I managed to download some stuff off the terminals, something about drugs in the air system. I knew I was hallucinating, and that made it easier to ignore.” Butch rambles on.

 

“What else did you see?” She asks, wondering quietly if that might be a stupid direction to steer the conversation.

 

“Turns out my mind on drugs is really predictable. Radroaches everywhere, sometimes they’d shout at me in my mom’s voice. Eventually I heard gun shots and you shouting for me, I wasn’t sure whether it was real or not, but I couldn’t risk it so I just ran toward it.” She can see him peering over at her in the periphery of her vision. She doesn’t meet his eyes, she just continues staring at the ceiling.

 

“Who do you think he was?” She says, like a whisper.

 

“The guy that was attacking you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Probably the last man standing. It looks like everyone just went insane and started killing each other. The whole place was torn apart, even if we could find a way to explore it without inhaling that shit again I don’t think there would be much worth salvaging.” She can feel the mattress shift as he moves to get up. He shuffles around for a few seconds before saying, “I feel really queasy, I need to eat or I might retch. You hungry?”

 

“Nah, I’m fine.” She says, voice flat.

 

She listens as Butch makes a fire, whistling to himself as he starts cooking. She wants to close her eyes to go to sleep, but every time she does, Butch’s face is there, eyes gleaming cruelly and a deranged grin splitting his face. Determined to fall asleep with her eyes open, she counts the beams in the ceiling over and over again. Dogmeat begs for her attention but she cannot muster a response, which is met with loud whining.

 

“C’mere boy.” Butch says and whistles, Dogmeat bouncing over, delighted that at least someone cares about him. “Annie needs to rest, you have to put up with me instead.”

 

“Did you manage to talk to your dad? In your hallucination, I mean.” Butch has sat down beside her on the mattress again, with a plate that smells like some sort of cooked meat.

 

“No, he just kept disappearing whenever I got close.” She says, struggling to keep her voice from cracking.

 

“Hm, figures.” Butch says, clearly not intending to press the matter any further. But a small voice inside her, sounding suspiciously like Butch, tells her maybe she should try to talk about it instead of bottling it all up.

 

“He wasn’t the only one I saw, lots of people from the vault were there. Overseer Almodovar, Amata, Wally and Paul… Couldn’t talk to any of them though.” She starts weakly, lump in her throat.

 

“Did you see me?” Butch asks curiously.

 

“No.” She says after a few beats, she doesn’t trust her voice to say more. The lump feels like it is growing.

 

“Suppose you see enough of me in real life, don’t need me in your hallucinations as well.”

 

“I think I need to get some sleep.” She says and rolls over, away from him. A few seconds pass, before the mattress shifts as he gets up again.

 

“Okay, I’ll make sure there’s food for you when you wake up.” He says quietly as he returns with her bedroll, draping it over her. She doesn’t answer.

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when she wakes it must be hours later. She doesn’t know if she feels better, but she feels a lot warmer. It’s pitch black outside, but in the faint light from the embers left of the fire, she can see a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, and a can of purified water placed beside the mattress. She slowly raises herself on her elbows, and realizes the reason she feels so warm is because she is covered by two bedrolls, both her own and Butch’s. Looking around the shack, her eyes land on his sleeping outline on the other side of the fire, curled up on the floor with his jacket draped across his upper body as a makeshift blanket. Dogmeat is asleep at his feet, snoring softly. And without a warning it’s like someone has punched her in the stomach, she can’t breathe and the tears start welling up. She buries her face in the mattress so that she won’t wake him up as the tears keep streaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found Vault 106 traumatising as fuck. It's placed so you're supposed to find it early on, while you're still looking for James, but I didn't stumble across it until rather late in the game. While the context was changed, it still packed one hell of an emotional punch. And then I genuinely for a second thought the drugs in the vault had made Butch turn on me, and I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to kill him or not, cause I really didn't want to get that stupid "Companion Alert! Butch Has Died!" pop-up again and then have to reload... So I can vaguely relate to how the LW must have felt.


	8. Shelter

In the week that has passed since the events of Vault 106, they haven’t mentioned it even once. The morning after, Butch asked Annie how she was feeling, and she responded that sleeping had done her a world of good, and she was now back to normal, thanks for looking after her anyway. And that was that. She did genuinely feel better, at least during the day, but come nightfall she found herself revisiting Vault 106 in her sleep. The first time she woke up from one of her nightmares, drenched in sweat and a scream stuck in her throat, she vowed to tell Butch about it in the morning. But come morning, when everything was back to normal, she couldn’t seem to find the right moment to bring it up.

 

They are walking down the hills toward the city ruins, their final destination being Rivet City. It’s already late, but they have decided to press on through the night. After a lot of bickering, Butch has managed to convince Annie that if she isn’t going to do her naked run between Rivet City and Megaton, she could at least buy him a drink in the Muddy Rudder. It doesn’t matter if she’s never technically conceded that deathclaws could be considered dragons, he has decided he won the bet.

 

The only reason she goes along with it is the thought that maybe it will be easier to spill the beans with a few drinks in her system. But how do you tell your best friend you hallucinated killing him? And then decided to not tell him about it for a week, while constantly having nightmares? She wants to be able to open up as easily as he does, and talk about all the difficult things that hurt, because when he says it helps, she believes him. But that doesn’t make it any easier. Also, did she just refer to Butch DeLoria as her best friend?

 

As she mulls over the fact that best friend is probably, unfortunately the correct term, said best friend comes to a sudden stop right in front of her. She walks straight into his back with a loud _oomph_.

 

“Butch, what the fuck?” She whines, rubbing her nose. But he doesn’t reply, he just points toward the sky above the city where sickly greenish clouds have started gathering.

 

“Is your Pip-Boy picking up anything yet?” She asks, suddenly on her toes.

 

“Nah, but that’s definitely a rad storm brewing. I can feel it in the air.” He is already fiddling with the map in his Pip-Boy, trying to pinpoint a possible shelter. She can feel it now too, like static electricity, making the hairs at the back of her neck stand straight up. The air smells faintly of sulfur and rust. And as if on cue, their Pip-Boys start ticking steadily in unison, but at least it is ticking slowly for now.

 

“Fuck, I don’t have anything marked, what about you?” He says, slightly panicked. His first rad storm had also caught them unaware, about a week after they had first joined forces in Rivet City. They had blindly run for shelter, a subway tunnel miraculously presenting itself when their Pip-Boys were ticking so fast it might as well have been a single continuous beep. As soon as they were inside, they had hooked themselves up to RadAway, another first for Butch. It had taken two bags each to get their radiation levels down to normal, and Butch had spent the remaining hours vomiting. Ever since, he hadn’t gotten on well with rad storms, but until now they had always been lucky to be inside whenever they hit.

 

“We’re in luck, there’s an old fallout shelter in the mountainside just 50 yards or so away. It’s a bit cramped, but it will do.” She says after quickly checking her map.

 

“Thank fuck! I could kiss you right now!” He doesn’t, but he grabs her by the arm and shoves her ahead of him as he starts walking at a rapid pace. “No time to waste!” He shouts, picking up speed with every step.

 

When they reach the shelter a few minutes later, the ticking from their Pip-Boys is still at a comforting slow pace. Butch does a little jig on the spot and quickly pries the door open. The stale, dank air hits them, and a concrete room of barely 40 square feet reveals itself. Inside it is a single, rusty metal bucket. Butch starts unpacking their bedrolls, while Annie checks the ventilation system.

 

“Looks fine.” She mutters.

 

“The place stinks, but rather that than being fried by the storm.” Butch says, not sounding particularly bothered.

 

“Maybe leave the door propped open for a bit, get some fresh air in.” She suggests, then adds, “I’m just going to have a smoke before we end up stuck in here for god knows how long.” She slinks out through the open door, Butch mumbling behind her something about coming out to join her in a minute.

 

She finds herself a rock to sit on, just a few paces away from their shelter. Lighting up her last cigarette and taking a drag, she feels the welcome hit of nicotine like a wave of calm through her body. Up from here, they have an unobstructed view of what is left of Washington D.C. and the storm looming above it. In comparison to the ruins, Rivet City glows like a beacon in the distance, but there are spots of light in between the dilapidated buildings and rubble.

 

She sighs to herself. So much for getting a drink to make the conversation she doesn’t want to have slightly easier. They do have a hipflask of vodka stowed away at the bottom of his bag, but something tells her Butch will not be up for cracking it open tonight. He has more or less stopped drinking while they’re on the road, only getting the alcohol out for special occasions. That hipflask used to make regular appearance, especially after they got themselves out of a particularly tight spot, usually with him exclaiming the occasion called for a stiff drink. She wonders why he has suddenly stopped, maybe the hangovers are starting to catch up with him, or they started getting into tight spots so often it wasn’t sustainable. She makes a mental note to ask him later.

 

“Shelter’s ready, how’s the rad storm looking?” Butch shouts out from the doorway of their home for the night.

 

“Like it’s going to be a really bad one. Best guess is we’ve got about 15 minutes before we need to head in, might as well enjoy the view until then.” She shouts back. She doesn’t need to turn around, she can hear his characteristic, shuffling walk as he comes up to stand just behind the rock she’s sitting on.

 

“Lucky we were so close to here then.” He says.

 

“I suppose. Still, if I had had the choice I would have picked somewhere less cramped, dark and damp.” She says, twisting around to look at him. The wrathful storm clouds reflected in his blue eyes, he stares off into the distance with a slight frown on his face, but he looks considerably calmer about the situation than he did only ten minutes prior.

 

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers, and if we let it air for just a bit it will be fine.” He responds, grinning down at her. “You got any smokes left?” He shoves her slightly to get her to scoot over and make room on the rock for him. It’s a squeeze, but they both manage to just about fit, shoulders of their matching leather jackets rubbing against each other.

 

“Only the one I’m currently smoking.” She says, throwing him a sideways look of condolence.

 

“Knew I should have picked some up in Megaton.” He sighs, “I thought you picked up a whole pack though?”

 

“I did.” She says, flicking the ash off her cigarette.

 

“And you’re through them all already?” He says, the concern in his voice making her chest tighten.

 

“We’ve all got our vices, Butch. You drink, I smoke.” She says, trying to sound light-hearted but falling short.

 

“Yeah but you’ve been smoking a lot lately. You feeling alright?” He has turned himself to fully face her, studying her expression intently.

 

“I’m fine. They just help with my nerves is all.” She says, not quite meeting his eyes.

 

“Is this about 106?” He says gently. Of course he could tell.

 

“Yeah.” She says, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Maybe now is the moment she has been waiting for, she should just tell him. But the longer she internally debates how to start, the easier it gets for her to talk herself out of it.

 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they’re bad for your lungs and stuff.” He breaks the silence, his eyes fixed on the cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

 

“According to the old medical textbooks we had in the clinic, some crackpot doctors had a theory they increase your risk of cancer.” She inhales the smoke deep into her lungs, holds it for a second and then exhales. “Know what else increases your risk of cancer? Living in a radioactive wasteland.” She lets the cigarette hang off her lip as she throws him a glare.

 

“Well, in that case…” Butch says, reaches over and plucks the cigarette straight out of her mouth.

 

“Hey, what are you doing!?” She protests, trying to grab it back from him, but to no avail. In addition to his height advantage, he places his free hand on her face, pushing her away so she almost falls off the rock. He inhales the smoke with a delighted sigh.

 

“The way I see it, in this gang we look out for each other and share the risks equally.” He exhales. “I also _really_ wanted a smoke.”

 

“You’re such an asshole.” She says, straightening herself up.

 

“Just looking out for your health. So how much would getting stuck in a rad storm increase your risk of cancer?” He says, holding out the cigarette for her to grab.

 

“No idea, a lot? I’d be a lot more concerned about the immediate effects though, severe rad sickness or, y’know, death. Developing cancer is sort of part of the whole luxury of growing old, and the chance of that is severely decreased when you have as many run-ins with deathclaws and muties as we do.” She says, taking a few drags then letting him have the cigarette again.

 

“Nah, I’m going to live until I’m old. Like, really old. At least 100 years old.” He grins, before blowing a half-formed smoke ring in her face.

 

“Are you now?” She says, raising her eyebrows skeptically.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be wrinkly but just as handsome, and a silver fox. And then I’m going to die peacefully in my sleep. With Dogmeat the Third by my side.” He muses. “Want the last drag?”

 

“Well, I wish you good luck with that.” She says as she shakes her head, both at Butch’s ideas and in refusal of the cigarette. “Where is Dogmeat anyway?”

 

“Warming up the bedrolls. We should head inside.” He stubs out the cigarette on the side of the rock, but doesn’t get up from the rock immediately. The ticking from their Pip-Boys has gotten considerably faster, and the air is now crackling with electricity. A faint humming is emanating from the incoming clouds, almost like they are singing.

 

“Y’know, it is pretty beautiful.” Butch says after a few seconds, eyes fixed on the suffocating green sky that is almost upon them now. “The rad storm, I mean. If I didn’t know what it was I’d stay out all night and just watch it.”

 

“Hm yeah, beautiful, but incredibly dangerous. Deadly even.” She says, starting to get anxious to get inside, so she gets up from the rock.

 

“So, like you then?”

 

“How do you mean?” She says, stopping in her tracks, furrowing her brow.

 

“Y’know, all tiny and pretty, putting everyone at ease and then _BAM_ shiv in your neck, bullet between your eyes.” He says, looking up at her, animatedly acting out getting both stabbed and shot, quickly moving between the facial expressions for happy, surprised, dead and then happy again.

 

“Hm. You think I’m pretty?” She can’t really think of a good comeback.

 

“You know you are. Stop fishing for compliments.” He says matter-of-factly, as he gets up from the rock.

 

“Come on, let’s head inside.” She shakes her head at his antics, but can’t deny it makes her feel a little bit warm inside when he compliments her so easily. She closes the door carefully behind them and for a moment it is completely black. Her eyes start to adjust themselves just in time to see Butch trip over the rusty bucket. He turns on the flashlight in his Pip-Boy while swearing angrily about how the bucket should be made to suffer outside in the storm.

 

“Night cap?” She suggests when they are both comfortably seated on their bedrolls, him having calmed down and her having stopped laughing.

 

“Nah, let’s just try to sleep through the worst of it.” He says as he is tugging his boots off. Just like she expected.

 

“Night.” She shrugs and crawls into her warm bedroll which smells just like Dogmeat. It’s just as well, they’ll likely have a couple of hours in the morning to kill before they can head out again, she can tell him about what really happened in 106 then.

 

“Night.” He responds, and in less than a minute he is softly snoring in pace with Dogmeat, who has curled up by his feet as usual. For a second she feels a sting of jealousy that Dogmeat seems to prefer sleeping next to Butch rather than her, but when she burrows her face into her bedroll and inhales the musty smell of wet dog she instead feels a bit grateful. She closes her eyes, waiting for sleep to take her away, but it never comes. She adjusts, turns over on her other side, closes her eyes again and waits. But she is wide awake, heart beating rapidly.

 

“Butch?” She says on a whim, her voice ringing out into the darkness.

 

“Mm?” He mumbles.

 

“You asleep?” She asks, not knowing how to start.

 

“I was. What’s up?” Sleep thick in his voice.

 

“I saw you, in Vault 106.” She says before she can stop herself again.

 

“Hm?” She hears him shuffle about, then a faint green light fills the small room as he turns on the screen of his Pip-Boy. He is half sitting up, looking at her confused, hair slicked to one side of his head and standing straight out on the other.

 

“Most of the people that I saw from 101 were just wandering around without reacting to my presence, like Amata or my dad. But then when I was attacked by that guy down in the lower levels…” She is rambling, but at least it is all coming out now, and the more she keeps talking the easier it feels. “Things got really hazy, and then I saw you, and deep down I knew it wasn’t actually you, but…”

 

“I don’t understand, what was I doing?” Butch interrupts her, his eyes still squinting, trying to focus on what she is actually saying.

 

“You, Wally and Paul were attacking me.” She says quietly. “I kept trying to reason with you, but you just laughed and laughed… I shot Wally, and then I shot Paul, but I kept trying to plead with you, even when you had me on the ground, hands around my neck…” She has to take a break then to wipe the tears off her face. She hadn’t even noticed she was crying.

 

“Because I was actually that crazy guy…” Butch says, voice strained as realization hits.

 

“I shot you.” She whispers. The tears are streaming now, a wet patch rapidly accumulating on her bedroll.

 

“It wasn’t actually me though.” Butch says gently. Suddenly he shifts over, closing the already small gap between them. Lying propped up on his arm, he slowly strokes the hair out of her face.

 

“I was so disoriented I wasn’t sure what was up or down. What if I had pulled the trigger on you? The real you?” She sobs. His breath feels warm on her face.

 

“But you didn’t.” He says softly, continuing to stroke her hair. She takes a few deep breaths.

 

“But what if?” She looks up at him defiantly, face still wet but the tears having stopped.

 

“If sometime in the future, I actually try to kill you, you have my permission to kill me back.” He wipes the tears off her face with the back of his hand. “So is this what’s been eating you lately?”

 

“Yeah…” She says, biting her lip. Of course he noticed, he always does. Before he can interject, she adds, “I know, I should have told you, but I didn’t know how to.” He gives her a small smile at that.

 

“It’s okay. One day you’ll stop bottling all your emotions up.” He says calmly, then nudges her to turn over.

 

“I’m working on it.” She says, straining her neck to look at him over her shoulder. He instantly reaches out to gently push her down again, slowly rubbing her upper arm to get her to relax.

 

“Until then I’ll just have to drag it out of you.” He says with sleep having returned to his voice, and snuggles up to her, his arm finding its place around her waist.

 

“Thanks, Butch.” She whispers.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Nosebleed. Go back to sleep.” He mumbles and then he does, almost instantly.

 

Annie lies there awake for a little while, trying to get used to the feeling of having him that close, the weight of his arm on her waist and his nose burrowed in her hair against the back of her neck. His breath tickles a bit, but otherwise it’s comfortable, and _warm_. She scoots a bit closer into his embrace, and closes her eyes with a smile. This time, sleep comes without wait.

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real love story is the one taking place in the background between Butch and Dogmeat. Also, smoking most definitely increases your risk of cancer, so don't do it, kids. I don't know why I seem to romanticise it so much in my writing when I find it disgusting in real life.


	9. Conversations on the Road (Part IV)

"So who was your first kiss?"

 

"Who wants to know?"

 

"The Butch-man wants to know."

 

"Well, Butch-man, are we counting Spin the Bottle or Truth and Dare?"

 

"Sure."

 

"Amata, during a game of Spin the Bottle at age 11."

 

"11? I thought first time we played Spin the Bottle was Amata's 13th birthday?"

 

"Well... it was just me and Amata."

 

"Haha, that's so sad."

 

"Yeah, we realized quite quickly it wasn't very exciting without other people. It was just weird."

 

"Alright then, first kiss that wasn't part of a game?"

 

"Oh that was Paul."

 

"You didn't have your first proper kiss until you were 15?"

 

"No, no, this was when we were 12."

 

"What, Paul never told me about this!"

 

"Probably because you would have teased him to death. He had never kissed anyone, and asked if we could try, in retrospect it was very sweet really. Didn't talk to me for about a week afterward though."

 

"What a charmer, he deserves a pat on the back. He got you hooked on the Tunnel Snakes young!"

 

"To be fair, options were severely limited in the vault, there weren't many non-Tunnel Snake guys our age around. Your first one was Christine, right?"

 

"Mhm, and I was walking on clouds for a week before Paul told me he'd kissed her too."

 

"Oh teenage vault drama. Everyone ended up locking lips with everyone at some point though."

 

"Not true, I definitely never kissed Wally."

 

"You're not missing much, he was very... slobbery."

 

"Right, rate the Tunnel Snakes from worst kisser to best kisser, go!"

 

"Numero cuatro, definitely Wally. Eugh."

 

"Haha, warms the cockles of my heart to hear he was terrible."

 

"Numero tres, Butch DeLoria."

 

"What!?"

 

"No offense."

 

"Freddie was a better kisser than me?"

 

"Well, if you remember, you kissed me at Susie's 14th birthday party, which was the first party you managed to smuggle booze to. So first you were bragging about how much alcohol you could drink, then you were teasing me about something or other, before trying to suck my face off. And then you promptly threw up everywhere. Not exactly the most romantic moment of my teenage years."

 

"... Fair enough. Numero dos, Freddie Gomez?"

 

"Yeah, sweet but oddly hesitant and nibbly. Which brings us to the swoon-worthy Paul Hannon, numero uno."

 

"Well, that was to be expected. Aged 12 or 15 though?"

 

"15 obviously. So, which kiss from the vault was your best?"

 

"Guess."

 

"Pretty sure it would have been Susie?"

 

"Nope."

 

"Christine?"

 

"Nah."

 

"... Me?"

 

"Oh god no, I don't actually remember that one that well."

 

"What, Amata?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Your best kiss in the vault was during a game of Spin the Bottle when you were 13?"

 

"Oh no, the best kiss happened much, much, much later."

 

"Bullshit, Amata would have told me."

 

"Not if you had already left the vault by then."

 

"What!?"

 

"You heard me."

 

"No. Way. How?"

 

"Oh Nosebleed, there's so much you don't know about me."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Mess with the Tunnel Snakes and you get the fangs! Yeah!”

 

“Butch, I really doubt that bloatfly gave a fuck about the Tunnel Snakes.”

 

“Well it should have, because now it’s dead.”

 

“When you settled on the name Tunnel Snakes, did you realize there was a double entendre?”

 

“We were like ten, I just thought snakes were cool and we lived in tunnels so… Tunnel Snakes it was.”

 

“You didn’t think to change it when you realized what it sounded like though?”

 

“Nah, we just thought it was funny.”

 

“Typical teenage boys, preoccupied with their peckers.”

 

“Simpler times, eh?”

 

“Do you ever think of what life would have been like if we had never left he vault?”

 

“The rebellion would still have happened eventually. Like you said, we would have needed to trade and allow new people in to not become inbred.”

 

“I mean if dad and I hadn’t left.”

 

“That’s my point though, it was unsustainable. If you and the Doc had still been around, it might have swayed things in our favor for a bit, but I think it would have still ended in violence, the Overseer wasn’t going to let the power slip out of his hands that easily.”

 

“Right, what I mean though is, if we ignore all that, food shortages and population decline magically solved, if we had kept living in the vault in harmony, then what would have happened?”

 

“You mean what would things have been like, if none of the many, many things wrong about the vault never existed?”

 

“Yeah, if we romanticize the fuck out of vault 101, what would things have been like if we had just carried on with our lives underground completely unaware of the surface?”

 

“I suppose I would have been Overseer.”

 

“That would _never_ have happened.”

 

“What, you don’t think I would have been a good Overseer?”

 

“This is not some fantasy where Butch gets to rule everything, I mean mundane stuff like, who would have married whom, what stupid vault drama would have occurred at the Christmas party, would you and I even have been friends?”

 

“What do you mean ‘would we have been friends’? Of course we would have! I would have continued to need to visit you like at least once a week in the clinic anyway, and then we would have chatted and played cards, and then drank and smoked ourselves to death because we were living in an oppressive dictatorship in a hole in the ground.”

 

“You really don’t get this game, do you? I just wanted to gossip about people from our past, like, would Amata and Freddie ever have gotten married?”

 

“If they did, they would have been miserable. Besides, with our dwindling numbers, I’m sure the Overseer would have ended up instating some crazy breeding plan, rotating spouses with a minimum of two kids per pairing and shit.”

 

“I wouldn’t have put it past him.”

 

“So you and I might have had a kid now… And me and Amata, and you and Freddie, and you and Wally...”

 

“Wally? Ew, that’s where I have to draw the line.”

 

“You’d be okay with having a kid with Freddie but not Wally? Interesting. Is it because you prefer mopey and dumb to asshole and dumb?”

 

"'Mopey and dumb' and 'asshole and dumb', were those your special Tunnel Snakes code names? What about you and Paul then?"

 

"I would obviously have been 'pretty and dumb', Paul would probably have been 'soft and dumb'."

 

"Pretty and dumb? I feel like the 'and' is superfluous."

 

"Hah. You're avoiding my question though, you'd rather have a kid with _Freddie_ than Wally?"

 

“I wouldn’t want to have a kid with either of them. Why are all your possible futures for the vault so fucking depressing?”

 

“Cause all our possible futures in the vault _would have been_ shit. I just don’t see the point of dwelling on it, we’re free now, and we can do whatever we want. The Tunnel Snakes will rule the Wasteland!”

 

“Well that’s one thing that certainly wouldn’t have happened if we had stayed, I would not have joined the Tunnel Snakes.”

 

“Aw, Nosebleed, you wound me. Why not?”

 

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have let me.”

 

“Bullshit. The Tunnel Snakes is family, just without the blood ties. So you and Dogmeat would have to be in it.”

 

“Dogmeat wouldn’t be in the vault though.”

 

“I’m sure he’d find a way. Why are you smirking like that?”

 

“Dogmeat and I are your family?”

 

“What? Do you see anyone else around?”

 

“I’m very touched, Butch.”

 

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re not a little bit touched in the head, Nosebleed.”

 

“Come on then, fellow Tunnel Snake, let’s take over the wasteland! Starting with Vault 108. Maybe this will be one where people still live.”

 

“Hang on, is that your Pip-Boy beeping?”

 

“Yeah… Looks like a message from the Brotherhood.”

 

“What are they saying?”

 

“Looks like our plans have changed. Tomorrow we’re taking back Project Purity.”

 

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, shoehorned some plot in at the end there. The BoS don't care that they've been off wandering the wastes for about a year before taking back Project Purity because... reasons.
> 
> My take on the relationships between the kids of vault 101 is a pretty kind one, one where they were friends most of the time after all, and got up to the same sort of stupid stuff most groups of friends do while going through puberty. I'll just leave it up to you to decide which ones of all those kisses actually had romantic intent rather than just being part of a drinking game or a joke.
> 
> Regarding Amata and Butch, I have this headcanon that while they never became friends, they were allies during the rebellion and ended up reluctant drinking buddies. Butch probably talked her ear off about all his feelings, and at some point they made the kind of mistake that easily happens when you're 20, upset and really drunk... and the more I think about it I might actually write about this as a one-shot at some point.


	10. The Citadel (Part I)

“Annie…” Butch grabs her arm and stops her dead in her tracks. They’re in a Citadel corridor, having prepared their gear and now ready to step into power armor for the final assault on the Enclave. Brotherhood soldiers are jogging past them, commands being shouted above their heads. They have very little time before heading out and it is palpable, the air thick with adrenaline.

 

“You ready? We need to suit up.” She motions to continue up the corridor, but he holds her arm firmly.

 

“Are you sure about this?” He says, his gaze holding her in place with a more determined grip than his hand.

 

“Of course I am.” She responds confused. “We’re taking back Project Purity, clean water for the Wasteland, finishing my dad’s lifework et cetera, et cetera. Come on, we need to hurry up.”

 

“I mean, are you sure about being in the front with the Lyon’s Pride.” He speaks slowly, as if it is crucial she understands exactly what he means. She doesn’t.

 

“Why shouldn’t we? They could use our help.”

 

“They’ve been soldiers for their entire lives, we’re some random vault kids that have been getting by more on luck than skill. We could hang back, let the professionals handle the brunt of the assault.” He sounds a bit whiny now.

 

“Butch, if you don’t feel up to it, you can hang back, nobody will blame you.” She says, trying to sound kind but inwardly furious that he chooses now of all times to chicken out. She needs him there next to her on the battlefield, but she also doesn’t want him dead.

 

The flurry of soldiers around them is picking up speed, the shouting getting louder. “Annie…” Butch says with a dejected sigh and shakes his head, and drags her into a side corridor, settling them close to the wall, keeping his grip on both of her upper arms. It’s barely more private than where they were standing in the middle of the corridor.

 

“I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about _you_ ” he says, shaking her on the ‘you’ for emphasis.

 

Anger is suddenly bristling inside her stomach. How dare he act like _she’s_ the one lacking in combat skill? “I can handle myself.” She hisses between closed teeth.

 

“I know that, I just have a really bad feeling about this one, like really bad.” He says slowly. “All I ask is that you’re careful. Just don’t do anything stupid and don’t get yourself killed.”

 

“I wasn’t planning to.” The open worry on his face has her taken aback.

 

“I know, but you just have this tendency to…” He sighs, but does not let his eyes stray from hers. “It doesn’t matter right now. My point is, I don’t know what I’d do with myself if something happened to you.”

 

“Guys, you need to get a move on. Lyon’s Pride are heading out in five.” Sarah shouts to them as she jogs past, not even slowing down.

 

“Annie… I mean it.” Butch says, getting her to turn her attention back to him. “Don’t you dare go die and leave me behind all alone.” His voice comes out a bit strangled, eyes wide and glassy. Seeing him like that causes something inside her to break, she wants to wipe that look off his face. Her hands find his cheeks, slowly stroking with her thumbs. It doesn’t quite work, but he does lean into her touch.

 

“Butch…” She says, her words having left her.

 

“Promise me.” He says sternly.

 

“I promise.” She responds with a weak voice, feeling like she should say more, but she is still finding it very difficult to express her thoughts, so she just remains in their half-embrace hoping the words will come out on their own. _I promise. Don’t die on me either. I need you._ They never get the chance, because Sarah has appeared by their side again and this time she has stopped.

 

“Annie, Butch, NOW!” Sarah roars. And without another word, they join the current of soldiers.


	11. The Citadel (Part II)

And suddenly there is light. Bright, piercing light, like needles in her eyes. She closes her eyes, opening them slowly to try to bring the world into focus but everything is still a blur. She cannot tell if it is just her vision swimming or if there is someone moving in the periphery. She thinks she is on her back, but she’s not sure she can feel her limbs. Maybe she should speak? No sound comes out, maybe she never actually moved her lips. Suddenly a shadow above her blocks out all light and muffled noises float around her. More shadows enter her field of vision, and then they start moving very fast, the noises getting more frantic. Are they voices? Or maybe they’re machines? She tries to tell them to speak up, but again there is no sound.

 

She can make out the sound of her name, “Annie?” a familiar voice that sounds like it is a mile away repeating her name over and over. She wants to respond, _I’m here, I can hear you, I need you_ but she now realizes there is something down her throat. There is a warm pressure on her cheek, but she barely has time to register it before it disappears. A weight also lifts from her hand, leaving her feeling emptier and colder than before. She wiggles her fingers, trying to grasp what was there before, but there is only air.

 

An unfamiliar strange face is suddenly above her, as her vision slowly returns she realizes it is covered by a surgical mask. The buzzing, beeping and whirring of machines reaches a crescendo around her and the masked face speaks the first full sentence she can hear clearly:

 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, you really had us worried there for a while.”


	12. The Citadel (Part III)

“All your values are back to normal. It’s looking like you’ll be making a full recovery, you just need a lot of rest.” Says Senior Scribe Jeffords, as he’s taking another blood sample from Annie’s arm. He’s the one who greeted her when she first woke up, and since he has taken her blood samples twice daily for almost a month. He’s a gentle, older man with a receding hairline, and considerably friendlier looking without the surgical mask.

 

“And how’s Sarah doing?” She asks, as she does every day, looking up at him expectantly. Since waking up, she had been moved to a separate room from Sarah and she had not been allowed to visit her. Not that she’d been able to make the walk over to the B ring anyway.

 

“Still not awake, I’m afraid, but she’s stable.” He says, sighing. Sarah’s condition changed from critical to stable in Annie’s first week awake, but nothing has changed since.

 

While they had avoided the purifier exploding, there had been a massive spike in radiation, Elder Lyons had explained with a grave expression on his face when he had first visited her after she awoke. The radiation had emanated from the purifier, but had been mainly contained within the rotunda. So while the forces outside had at worst experienced a bout of rad sickness, it had been considerably worse for the three people inside the rotunda, and they had been incredibly lucky to make it out in one piece. Annie’s power armor had taken the brunt of the blast, and had had to be thrown on the scrap pile after they cut her out of it.

 

“What are her chances?” Annie presses. Sarah had been further away from the epicenter of the spike, but hadn’t been wearing her helmet when it hit.

 

“It’s… difficult to say.” Senior Scribe Jeffords says, concentrating on the blood sample rather than Annie’s question. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know more.” He adds kindly when she sighs in exasperation.

 

Annie never had to deal with anything even close to this serious in the vault clinic, but she knows the likelihood of waking up from a coma decreases with time. She only finds comfort in the fact that, after all, she herself is making a full recovery. And Butch had only been a few meters further away than Sarah, and he hadn’t even been knocked out. Or so she had been told, she hadn’t seen him since.

 

“Oh I thought I should say, your friend, the tall one with the snake jacket? He’s back.” Senior Scribe Jeffords adds as he is about to leave her room. She feels the bottom of her stomach drop. So he’s still alive at least then.

 

“Do you know where he is?” She asks, urgency present in every word.

 

“He was out in the courtyard when I saw him.” Senior Scribe Jeffords answers cautiously, his fears clearly being confirmed when she starts scrambling to get out of her bed. “No, I must insist you stay in bed, walking that far would be too much in your current state.”

 

She sinks back into the mattress with a sigh. She knows he is right. Only in the past week has she been allowed out of her room to walk up and down the corridor outside on crutches, and only under the strict supervision of a Scribe with medical training.

 

“If I see him, should I tell him to come see you?” Senior Scribe Jeffords offers kindly as a compromise, as he opens the door to let Dogmeat back inside.

 

“Yeah. Please.” She concedes as Dogmeat jumps up onto her bed. She scratches him absentmindedly behind the ears as she listens to Senior Scribe Jefford’s footsteps echo down the hallway and eventually turn a corner. Then she reaches out for the crutches leaning against her bed and gets up.

 

He is in the bailey, just like Senior Scribe Jeffords said, sitting on the steps outside the A ring entrance. He isn’t doing anything, just watching the few straggler initiates hurrying inside before the cantina closes. He doesn’t see her as she carefully hobbles down the stairs on her crutches behind him, giving her some time to study him. Even with the Tunnel Snakes jacket covering his back, she can tell his shoulders are knitted up against his neck. His hair has gotten longer too, hanging loosely rather than styled the usual way. She considers what she should lead with. _Where the fuck have you been_ , maybe. Or, _fancy seeing you here._ Or maybe even, _so, do you come here often?_ But just as she is about to open her mouth, Dogmeat races down the steps to jump in his lap, and he turns around and spots her.

 

“Hi.” She exhales. He looks like shit. She wonders when he last shaved. Or slept for that matter.

 

“Hi.” He says flatly, eyeing her up and down before turning his gaze toward the courtyard again.

 

“So I heard you were back.” She says, trying to sound casual as she carefully sits down on the same step as him, placing her crutches between them.

 

“Yeah.” He mutters, then glances over and adds, “Should you be out of bed?”

 

“I’m fine. My values are back to normal.” She says, waving her hand dismissively. As long as she gets to sit and catch her breath for a bit, she should be fine. His gaze if firmly fixed ahead of him as he idly pets Dogmeat.

 

“So where have you been?” She asks quietly.

 

“Wandering.” He responds without looking at her.

 

“They told me you wouldn’t leave my side while I was out.” She says, but he doesn’t respond.

 

“And that you left as soon as I woke up.” She adds, a bit more forcefully, but he is still not giving any sign he has even heard what she said.

 

“Are you angry with me?” She says as loudly as she can muster, the irritation bubbling up within her. _He’s the one that fucking left her._

 

“Am I angry with you?” He repeats in furious disbelief, snapping his head around to look at her. “Of course I’m fucking angry with you. I turn my back for a second and you decide it’s an excellent time to go sacrifice yourself. Fuck. How could you be so fucking stupid?” He hangs his head in his hands, looking like he is considering just screaming his lungs out.

 

“Butch, there wasn’t time to explain…” She starts desperately.

 

“There was time for you to discuss it with Sarah.”

 

“You were securing the doors.” To step into the water purifier had been a split second decision, it was that or let the whole thing blow. She hadn’t had a choice. While it was true she had discussed it with Sarah, it had been a very one sided conversation consisting of Sarah insisting she’d go inside if Annie just gave her the code, and Annie not even stopping on her way in.

 

“Some warning would have been nice, or just a good bye maybe?” Butch says, the hurt in his gruff voice making her insides twist.

 

“And what would that have changed? You couldn’t have stopped me from going in there.” She says quietly.

 

“Maybe I would have just come with you.” He looks up at her stubbornly.

 

“Butch… what good would that have done?” She says surprised.

 

“I don’t know.” He says irritated, kicking some gravel off the step in front of him. “It would have saved me feeling so fucking helpless while you were laying there, nobody knowing whether you were ever going to wake up again.”

 

“Butch, I’m sorry.” She says with as much weight as she can muster behind each word, grabbing his shoulder to force him to look her in the eye. “There just wasn’t time to stop and think, a second longer and the entire memorial would have been a crater in the ground.”

 

“I know, Elder Lyons told me. Still didn’t make me feel any better about it.” He says flatly. She lets her hand fall to her side, the absence of an apology from him for disappearing for a month without a word stinging. She focuses on her hands in her lap, willing herself to not let the tears well up, swallowing the lump in her throat.

 

“I needed some space and time to think, figure some stuff out.” He starts slowly, then turns his body fully toward her. “That’s why I left. I just needed to know you were okay first.”

 

“You left Dogmeat with me.” She says, relieved that he has started talking again, just wanting him to continue.

 

“Yeah, only seemed fair. He also wouldn’t leave you even if I had tried.” He says, the smallest lopsided grin flittering across his face.

 

“Good boy.” She says with a small smile, Dogmeat’s ears perking up at that. “So where did you go?” She continues carefully, desperate not let the conversation come to a standstill.

 

“Megaton first. Then Little Lamplight.”

 

“Little Lamplight?” She asks surprised. “Did they even let you in without me?”

 

“Yeah, for some reason they seem to like me, and I was carrying about a ton of Buffout to trade for some more of their fungus.” He says, looking slightly pleased with himself for a second before his face falters again. “Thought maybe it could help with your recovery or something. Turns out you didn’t need it, but maybe it could help Sarah.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, made me feel a bit less useless.”

 

“That’s a pretty good idea.”

 

“Thanks. I’m not just a pretty face, y’know.” The corners of his mouth tugging upward slightly now. “Went to Rivet City to trade a bit as well, but all anyone wanted to do was talk about you, the Savior of the Wasteland. They did buy me a lot of drinks though, so it wasn’t all bad. And then I came back here.” He exhales, having reached the end of his story without having shed much more light on why he left. They watch Dogmeat chase a fly around the courtyard for a bit.

 

“So what did you figure out?” She asks.

 

“Hm?” He says, clearly lost in thought.

 

“You said you needed to figure some stuff out?” She presses.

 

“Oh that.” He takes a deep breath as if he’s unsure how to continue. “You know we’ve been traveling together for almost a year? Other than my first trip between the vault and Megaton, I never travelled alone and I hadn’t really thought that I would ever have to… because I didn’t consider that something might happen to you.” He looks at her hesitantly.

 

“We’ve had some pretty close brushes with death before.” She says, knowing fully well nothing else came even close to her near-sacrifice.

 

“Never this bad.” He says exasperated, his lips a tight line. “Before we’ve both still been standing by the end of it. Bleeding and bruised maybe, but never in a coma. Seeing you like that just… it just really fucked me up. So I needed to figure out how to deal with that.”

 

“What was your conclusion?” She’s almost afraid to ask, but steels herself for his answer.

 

“I just really fucking missed you.” His voice cracks, and his hand flies up to his face, quickly wiping at the corners of his eyes as he turns his face away from her, not letting her see. Before she can think, she pushes her crutches away from the step and closes the gap between them so she can grab his free hand.

 

“I meant what I said before we headed out for the assault” He continues, voice raspy, still talking to the empty courtyard rather than turning to her. “I really don’t know if I could go on if I lost you, and sometimes I wonder if you actually get that.” She squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back, but before she can respond, Dogmeat forces his way in between them, wanting in on the attention too. She gathers her thoughts, not letting his hand go for a second, while Butch fusses over Dogmeat.

 

“You know, it’s funny they still call me the Lone Wanderer when you’re constantly around.” She starts, mulling over how to continue. “I always hated that name, every time someone said it, it reminded me of how utterly alone in the world I actually was. But you know what I’m like, I just pushed all those feelings down, cause I just had to in order to survive, to find dad, to find the G.E.C.K….”

 

He doesn’t say anything, but he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, an encouragement to continue.

 

“Sometimes I think it has kind of emotionally crippled me for life. I still just get on with things without stopping to process how shitty it makes me feel… Or stopping to run it by you, for that matter.” She gives him a wry smile at that. “Being on my own for so long, I’ve just completely lost my sense of self-preservation. Sometimes I really do think I would have ended up getting myself killed if you hadn’t been there to slam on the breaks.”

 

“Geez, Nosebleed, are you saying I saved you? From yourself?” He says jokingly, his eyes are still glassy but at least he is smiling slightly.

 

“In essence, yeah I suppose so.” She says contemplatively. “Remember back when we first met in the Ruddy Mudder and you suggested we head up to your room for ‘another drink’?” The way he tenses when she mentions it tells her he definitely remembers. She wasn’t sure if he had been too drunk, because it had never been brought up again.

 

“Hm, yeah”. He says with a cough, averting his eyes toward the ground.

 

“I so nearly took you up on the offer.” She laughs.

 

“Seriously?” He looks up again, surprised but apprehensive.

 

“Seriously.” She laughs again, but then adds softly. “But I’m glad I didn’t.”

 

“Thanks.” He says in mock offense, well, half-mock at least, but she interrupts him quickly.

 

“Shush, I’m sure you’re a cracking lay, and you’ll make some lady very happy one day, but I’m trying to make a point here.” She grabs his hand with both her hands, squeezing tight for emphasis. ”It would have been for all the wrong reasons. At the time I was so starved for human connection and intimacy, and there you were, all _familiar_.” She pauses to keep her voice from cracking. “For a brief moment, I wanted to just use you up and leave you, emotional damage be damned, and then I felt awful for thinking like that. So awful.”

 

She can’t stop the tears from coming now. These are not memories she wants to dig up again, but it’s important for her to get him to understand.

 

“So that’s why you asked me to travel with you instead?” He asks gently, reaching out to cup her cheek and wipe away her tears, completely ignoring the fact that’s he’s started crying again too.

 

“In retrospect, I don’t know why I asked you, really, the words were sort of out of my mouth before I could think it through.” She says, smiling a bit at the memory. “But my point was, I’m really glad I did ask you to come with me, that I have had you by my side for all this time. I don’t ever want to go back to not having you to rely on. And when I woke up, and you were gone…” She takes a shaky, deep breath. “I just really fucking missed you too.”

 

And just like that they’re back on the same wavelength again. Butch starts laughing through the tears. And she can’t help but join him. It’s feels a bit bizarre, the two of them sitting there on the steps bawling their eyes out while Brotherhood soldiers walk in and out through the doors eyeing them warily. But it also feels completely right and normal.

 

“Man, we’re so fucking stupid sometimes.” Butch says, releasing her to wipe his own tears. She tries to agree, but the mixed sobs and laughing makes it difficult to get any words out, so she just nods. “Do you want a hanky?” He says as he leans down to root around his backpack, passing her a piece of fabric before she even has time to respond.

 

“And this is why it’s important to talk about your feelings, huh?” She says after blowing her nose and handing back the hanky to Butch, who scrunches his nose like he regrets not just telling her to keep it.

 

“And why it’s important to listen to Butch.” He says with a chuckle, throwing his arm around her shoulders to give her a quick squeeze before returning to dig through his backpack again. “I got you something, by the way.”

 

He produces a tightly rolled booklet, holding it up triumphantly before handing it over. She unrolls it and smooths it’s out against her thighs to read the title, written in simple black capitals on the white background underneath a cross within a circle.

 

“The Followers of the Apocalypse?” She says, looking up at him.

 

“It’s a manifesto. I picked it up in Rivet City from a caravan. They’re this organization out on the west coast, I thought you might find it interesting.” He says, adding with a wry grin. “They sound like they share your idealistic dreams for the wasteland.”

 

“’Our goal is to tend to the inhabitants of the wasteland, as well as ensure the horrors of the Great War are never repeated.’” She reads from the top of the second page of the booklet, raising an eyebrow. “You’re right, this could be interesting.”

 

“I also talked a lot with the caravans I met, tried to gather information about what it’s like beyond the Capital Wasteland.” He starts tentatively, before she has a chance to thank him. “Not all of the country is like this. There are areas with lower radiation levels, areas where plants are still growing all over… and there are cities many times the size of Megaton or Rivet City.” He looks at her expectantly.

 

“You want to leave the Capital Wasteland?” She says baffled.

 

“I don’t know, maybe.” He says slowly, looking out over the courtyard. “I just keep thinking there must be more out there, more than this. Besides, now that the Capital Wasteland has clean water, maybe the Savior of the Wasteland needs a new project.” He winks at her.

 

She doesn’t respond immediately, just thumbs through the booklet.

 

“Elder Lyons offered to make me a Paladin. Pretty much the first thing he said as I woke up.” She says. Butch blinks, unsure of what to make of that piece of information.

 

“You want to stay with the _Brotherhood_?” He blurts, not without some disgust in his voice, quickly composing himself to add: “I mean, if that’s what you want…”

 

She studies him for a second, his hand has come to rest tensely on Dogmeat’s head, completely forgetting to do any petting or scratching. She decides then, as long as the three of them stick together, she doesn’t care where they go.

 

“I respectfully declined the offer. I didn’t think the military life would suit us.” She says, and Butch lets out a small chuckle of relief.

 

“How long do you think it would take to walk all the way to the west coast?” She adds, nonchalantly, like it’s something she just wonders apropos nothing. When Butch looks up at her with a face splitting grin, she sends him a stern look, letting him know nothing is decided yet, she’s just weighing her options.

 

“Months.” He says simply. “But before we start thinking about that, you need to be able to walk without crutches again. How long did the master scribe or whatever, what’s-his-face, say it would take?”

 

“I don’t know, for now I mostly need to rest, avoid walking too much. He didn’t even want me to walk out to the courtyard.” She chuckles, even more so when Butch looks at her with worried disbelief. “It’s not like I couldn’t go see you when I knew you were back.”

 

“I should probably take you back to your room then, before you get caught out of bed.” He shoots her stern look, trying to hide his delight that she considered it that urgent to see him, while slinging his bag over his shoulder. With Butch on her right side, and a crutch on her left, she slowly makes it up the steps again. Senior Scribe Jeffords had been right about the courtyard being too far a walk for her at the moment, but even though her legs feel like lead, she feels infinitely lighter inside.

 

On the way to her room, they bicker over what exactly they should say if one of the medical Scribes spots her so far away from her bed.

 

“Just say you got confused, I found you wandering the corridors and kindly decided to escort you back.” Butch suggests, which earns him an elbow to the ribs.

 

“And risk them cracking my head open to check for brain damage?” Annie responds with a tone as disdaining as she can muster.

 

“Fine, what’s your great idea then?” Butch bites back.

 

“I was staying in my bed, as I was told, but then you kidnapped me.” She suggests.

 

“Do you want me to get shot?” He says, raising his eyebrows angrily.

 

“Don’t be silly, they wouldn’t shoot you, maybe apprehend you…” She can’t keep straight face anymore.

 

“The Brotherhood are definitely shoot first, ask questions later kind of people.” He mutters.

 

“Well, I can’t tell them the truth, I might get yelled at.” She says wryly, squeezing him a bit tighter.

 

But in the end, it doesn’t matter, other than the occasional initiate wandering past they have the corridors to themselves. They slowly make it past the side-corridor where Butch made her promise to not do anything stupid and risk her life during the assault and it feels like all the air has been squeezed out of her lungs, but she doesn’t say anything. If Butch has noticed, he doesn’t show it.

 

When they reach her room, Butch carefully helps her back into bed, lifting her almost reverently, like she is the most precious thing made out of the most fragile material. He gets her pillows to prop her back up, gently wraps her legs in a blanket, then puts another one on top, and places the Followers of the Apocalypse manifesto on her bedside table. When he comes to a standstill, hesitating at her bedside, she simply scoots over and pats the spot beside her. Kicking his boots off and hopping up to the edge of the bed, he leans back against the pillows stiffly. Without a word, she settles in, head leaned on his shoulder and manifesto in hand, and with an exhale he relaxes into the position too. Dogmeat has already found his spot at the foot of the bed, looking very pleased with himself.

 

“Did you read through it all?” She asks, opening the booklet where she left off.

 

“Nah, there wasn’t time.” He responds. So she starts reading it out loud. After the first few pages, she starts getting tired, so he takes over. They sit like that, taking turns to read a couple of pages at a time, enjoying each other’s presence, until her breathing slows and she falls asleep against his side. Butch finishes the booklet in silence, while listening to her softly, wheezing snores.

 

He eventually carefully tries to extract himself from the bed to find one for himself in the barracks, she needs her rest and he doesn’t want to disturb it. But he doesn’t even manage to move his arm an inch, before she stirs awake.

 

“Please stay.” She mumbles, not even opening her eyes. So he does, settling back into their half-sitting position, sides pressed together, her head on his shoulder, his cheek resting against the top of her head with her hair tickling his nose. He exhales and closes his eyes.

 

“I’m really happy you’re back.” She sighs as she snuggles closer.

 

“Me too.” He answers, knowing sleep is about to claim him any second now. “And Annie?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Remind me to give you a haircut tomorrow, you look like shit.” He chuckles, while earning himself another elbow to the ribs.

 

“Maybe you should sort yourself out first, Jerkface.” She yawns, and in that moment, she has never been so happy to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor confession: I never played Broken Steel so I don't actually know what happens when you wake up other than what I could skim from the wiki. I invented a medical Scribe because Sawbones would have just killed her, and had shite bedside manner while doing so (maybe he's treating Sarah? Along with my actual LW, which is why she didn't survive).
> 
> I know I'm playing very loosely with the timings of things, if it wasn't for Annie sacrificing herself without as much as a good bye being a super-interesting plot point, I would have just had them meet after the main plot was all over and done with.


	13. Rivet City (Again)

He’s standing at the bridge to Rivet City, eyes fixed as far down the road as he can see, squinting at any sign of movement. She’s been away for almost an hour now, he knows because he has checked the time on his Pip-Boy about once every two minutes. He is just starting to toy with the thought of heading down to check on her, not disturb her, just check from a distance that she’s okay, when he spots her familiar frame slowly trudging toward him in the distance. When she gets close enough for him to make out her face, neutral facial expression but she never was one for wearing her heart on her sleeve, he raises his eyebrows at her in question. She simply nods.

 

They start heading toward the entrance, side by side in silence, but as he reaches for the door, she grabs him by the wrist.

 

"Hey wait. I just wanted to say thanks for... y'know." She says, chewing on her bottom lip.

 

Butch cocks an eyebrow. "Don't worry about it, Nosebleed." He says, tugging his wrist to get her to continue walking, but she doesn't budge.

 

"No, I'm serious. I know you didn't want to make the detour" she says.

 

"Well if you had just said..." he says, then sighs. "Come on, we both need a drink. We can talk about this inside."

 

"I still don't get why you didn't just tell me." They are descending the stairs to the Muddy Rudder when he brings it up again, but she doesn't get a chance to reply, the conversation is interrupted before it has even started by the sour-looking woman behind the bar.

 

"Oh, you two again." The irritation in Belle Bonny's voice is not lost on anyone. Butch turns toward the bar and nods at Bonny, holding up two fingers. Bonny deftly slides two chipped glasses filled to the brim with amber liquid across the bar, while barking that she still doesn't let anyone keep a tab if they so turned all the water in the Capital Wasteland to fucking whisky. Butch slides a handful of caps back, giving her a wide grin.

 

"You know I would never hold out on you, doll." He winks. Bonny makes a disgusted noise and turns to one of the other patrons. Turning back to Annie with the glasses in his hands, he cocks his head toward the table in the corner. They sit down on the worn chairs across from each other, and knock back a big gulp each.

 

"Fucking rocket fuel. I swear that's what she mixes it with." Butch mumbles as he coughs at the sensation of the alcohol burning his throat.

 

"I felt silly." She says then in a small voice.

 

"You're always silly, Nosebleed. Or is this about something specific?" Butch answers distractedly, about to take another sip, but the way she holds his gaze makes him put his glass down.

 

"That's why I didn't tell you why I wanted to make the detour. I felt silly." She says it louder, but her voice now has an edge to it that would come across as hostile to those that don't know her. Butch, of course, knows her all too well.

 

"Oh." He shifts in his chair, leaning his elbows on the table so there's no mistake his full attention is on her.

 

"Yeah." The edge is still there, her lips a thin line.

 

“Look, I was only annoyed cause you suddenly, desperately wanted to trade in Rivet City when we were fucking miles away. I get if there’s things you need to do before we leave the Capital Wasteland, including visiting your dad’s grave.” He says as gently as he can. He is admittedly still a bit annoyed with her, he really had thought they were past not trusting each other with these sort of things.

 

“It’s not because I don’t trust you, I knew you’d understand.” She says then, as if she had read his thoughts. “It’s just… I couldn’t really justify it to myself, it just seemed so stupid, I thought maybe just being closer would give me the push I needed. I told you as soon as I had made up my mind.” She chews her lip again.

 

“But why? It’s not stupid.” He says, softly now, tilting his head to meet her eyes.

 

"He's dead, Butch."

 

"So?"

 

"I don't actually need to go to his grave to talk to him, do I? He still can't fucking hear me." Her voice trails off.

 

"So?" He gently nudges her hand that is resting on the scratched table. "If it makes you feel better. It's like... symbolic."

 

“When does it get easier?” She sighs, taking a large gulp from her glass.

 

“I don’t know, I’ll tell you when I get there.” He gives her a sad smile, his chest tightening a bit at remembering the detached way the Overseer had explained the vault policy of cremating the dead as soon as possible, and no, ashes were not allowed to be kept. “If my mom had a grave I could go talk to, I would go all the time, detours be damned. And me and my mom had one rocky relationship. I’d probably make a visit or two just to argue with her as well.” He says with a short laugh that sounds more like a cough.

 

She snorts at that, then gives him a lopsided grin. “We can’t all be as in touch with our feelings as you are.”

 

“Glad to know I’m such an inspiration to you.” He says sarcastically, but he takes it as a compliment.

 

"Thanks, Butch. Really." She says, holding his gaze for a few seconds, but the serious look on Butch's face has already turned into a lopsided grin.

 

"A toast!" He says, raising his already half-empty glass toward her.

 

"To being an orphan?" She quips with a raised eyebrow.

 

"No! To..." He protests.

 

"Tunnel orphans rule?" She suggests, slowly raising her glass to meet his.

 

"Shut up." He says, attempting to sound stern but then his face softens.

 

"To... the Doc. To James" He says.

 

"To Ellen." She says.

 

They empty their glasses in silence. It doesn't take long. And it doesn't take long before Butch has taken another trip to the bar to get them refilled.

 

"He always liked you, you know. For some unfathomable reason." Annie says as he sits down again, scrunching her nose at the second part.

 

"Who?" Says Butch.

 

"My dad. It used to infuriate me, how he wouldn't agree with me what a little shithead you were." She says, laughing now.

 

"Hey now, that's unfair." He scoffs, but there's no anger to be found in his voice. He had not been nice to her when they were kids, he does not only admit that but feels a fair bit of remorse about it. But she had not exactly been nice to him either.

 

"There he was, my dad that was supposed to be on my side without question, defending you, my childhood bully." She gestures wildly as she speaks.

 

"Probably because he always recognized you were equally big of a bully to me, even though you somehow managed to manipulate Brotch into thinking it was always my fault when it wasn't." He says, laughing at how long ago it seems. How different their lives had been in the vault.

 

"Like when?" It's her turn to scoff back, mock offended disbelief on her face.

 

"Like when you put thumbtacks on my chair? And then convinced him I’d done it to myself." He raises his eyebrows in challenge.

 

"You have to admit the better strategy would have been to tell Brotch instead of going straight for pulling my hair." She laughs.

 

"The gum in my hair before the prom when we were 14?" He really does try to make it sound like a serious accusation, but his wide grin betrays him.

 

"You cut big holes in my vault suit, for my boobs" Annie gestures at her chest as Butch is sniggering.

 

"Still pretty proud of that one. To Annie's boobs!" He raises his glass again.

 

"To DeLoria's pea-sized dick" She bites back, clinking her glass against his.

 

"I've never had any complaints." He says, with a quick wiggle of his eyebrows.

 

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response" She says, sticking her tongue out in disgust and downing her drink.

 

They continue like that for a while, alternating stories of how the other one was a horrendous bully, interspersed with raising their glasses. It’s funny how what they considered serious offenses back then has become fond memories. Annie goes to the bar to refill their glasses for the third time, and returns with the bottle.

 

"What about when you punched me at my birthday party? After trying to threaten me into giving you my sweetroll? Pretty sure that one takes the cake." She says, leaning forward with both elbows on the table.

 

"You serious?" He says, laughter getting stuck in his throat at the memory.

 

"Really don’t think you have an excuse for this one." She says, eyebrows raised, but hesitating in response to his reaction.

 

"You insulted my mom. Said I must be hungry because she had spent all our rations on booze. That's why I punched you." He says, knowing he shouldn’t feel like his actions were justified, but after all these years, that’s one of the few fights he doesn’t regret.

 

"Oh yeah... Shit, I'm sorry, I actually forgot about that until now.” She says, looking genuinely regretful. “My dad gave me a pretty stern talking to later that night. Fuck, 10 year old Annie was such an asshole."

 

"You still are." He says nonchalantly, knocking back his drink. "Hey, takes one to know one." He adds with a grin when she looks more angry than apologetic.

 

"We really should have got on better then.” She says contemplatively, picking at a scab on her palm. “Or maybe irreconcilable sameness was the reason we were constantly at each other's throat, both of us hotheaded and completely unable to step down from a fight. If someone had told me then you would now be my friend…"

 

"Can you even remember which one of us started it? It was probably me, wasn’t it?"

 

"Oh definitely. You know, my dad kept telling me we'd grow out of it, that we weren't that different after all and I should cut you some slack." She says, smiling fondly at the memory. “He’d probably be quite happy to see us getting on so well now, and he’d be so smug about it too.”

 

“Smart man, the Doc." He had always liked James, one of the few adults in the vault to treat him fairly rather than assume he was always at fault. The confirmation that James had not only liked him, but thought he wasn’t necessarily a bad influence on his daughter, warms him more than the alcohol currently going down his throat.

 

"He was." She says thoughtfully. And with that, two more drinks go down their throats and two new ones get poured. The familiar blanket of alcohol has wrapped him up completely now, and he feels warm and at ease. Judging by the red tinge spreading across Annie’s nose and cheeks, she’s pretty drunk now too.

 

"So what did you want to talk to him about?" Butch says, realizing he probably shouldn’t pry after the words were already out of his mouth, but Annie doesn’t seem bothered.

 

"Oh that was just... I just needed to clear my head, you know. Both giving him an update on what's happened since he died, and then our plans for the future. Felt pretty good laying it all out to him, actually." She says slowly, giving him a smile. “Who knew talking about your feelings could help, huh?”

 

"You told him about how we're thinking of heading west?"

 

"Yeah, that was the main thing really.”

 

"You talk to him about me?" He says with a teasing grin.

 

"Oh yeah, you got me, that's actually all I talked to him about." She says dryly.

 

"Dear dad, my best friend is Butch DeLoria now, he is possibly even more handsome and talented than he was in the vault, if you can believe it! He has saved my sorry ass countless times now, oh, I have no idea what I'd do without him!" The impression was a tad too high pitched, but would have been pretty good if he hadn’t slurred some of the words.

 

"Fuck off. Nobody in the vault thought you were handsome or talented." She’s rolling her eyes, indicating at him with her glass, causing the contents to swill dangerously close to the rim.

 

"You clearly did." He says teasingly, raising his glass and clinking it to hers in triumph.

 

"I did not." She says affronted.

 

"Admit it, you did. Not that anyone could hold it against you, I am very handsome and talented." He is still joking, but all of a sudden it feels quite important to get her to agree with him.

 

"You know, if the rumors were to be believed, you were the one that was sweet on me." And just like that, she has turned the tables on him.

 

"Rumors started by you, I'm sure" He accuses, eyes screwed up, hoping he looks shrewd rather than taken aback. _How long had she known for? How had anyone known?_

 

"Seriously, I didn't start that one.” She laughs at him, completely unaware of all the emotions and questions currently mixing with the alcohol inside him. “The one about you still sleeping with a teddy at age 16, sure, that was me. But seriously, Susie wouldn't talk to me for like two weeks, cause this was when she had the biggest crush on you."

 

Oh, so this would have been just before she left the vault. He wants to laugh in relief, he definitely hadn’t had a crush on her then.

 

"I remember. Susie's crush on me, that is.” He says, wiggling his eyebrows at her as if to suggest something had happened. It hadn’t. Frankly, Susie constantly following him around had been really annoying. “I _don’t_ remember the alleged rumor about my crush. I knew about the teddy one, by the way, which is why I started the rumor about you eating your boogers for a midnight snack" He continues, feigning an air of aloofness.

 

"You truly are disgusting. Anyway, I think it was cause you kept coming around the clinic a lot back then, and we were sort of actually becoming friends at this point?"

 

So that was it. Between scissors being sharp and doing the Overseer’s dirty work every now and then, he had probably been the clinic’s most loyal customer for a while there.

 

“I needed genuine medical attention!” Sure, he had often hung around afterward chatting while she was cleaning up, but only because he had suddenly realized she wasn’t so bad to talk to, interesting and funny even. In the month before her sudden flight from the vault he had even stopped by a few times after work despite not needing any wounds tended to, just to chat, and maybe play some cards.

 

“Yeah, but you know what people in the vault were like.”

 

"I still don't believe that was a rumor... although, it does explain something the Doc said to me." He says, frowning as he starts wondering if James too had thought he was sweet on Annie back then.

 

"What?" She says, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

 

"I was leaving the clinic, you'd stitched me up after I cut myself when working or something and then I'd hung around, chatting, probably playing cards." He can’t help but feel warm at the memories of the brief period of time when the vault hadn’t been so bad.

 

"Oh yeah, remember you taught me how to play Snap?" She interrupts at the mention of cards, unable to keep her drunken mind on the topic. Maybe just as well he doesn’t tell her about what James had said, it was kind of embarrassing after all.

 

"Oh yeah! Beat you every single time as well." He says triumphantly.

 

"Did not."

 

"We really need to get a full deck of cards again, I'll make you remember just how terrible you were."

 

"I wasn't.” She says haughtily, but then remembers what they were talking about. “But anyway, what did he say?"

 

"Shit, yeah,” He says, somewhat reluctantly. “So you had left to do something and I was just on my way to leave and the Doc was just coming in the door, so he strikes up a conversation."

 

"What are your intentions with my daughter?" She lowers her voice several octaves. It sounds nothing like James, especially since she can’t stop giggling.

 

"No...” He scoffs, but then changes his mind. “Well, yeah, sort of, actually?”

 

Annie looks confused.

 

“But not in those exact words.” He continues hurriedly. “More like 'I keep seeing you around here a lot these days' in a heavily insinuating tone" His impression of James is a lot more convincing. He looks at her expectantly.

 

"That was it?" Annie looks incredibly disappointed.

 

"He was insinuating." He says in his most convincing voice.

 

"And what did you say?" She says, still looking thoroughly unconvinced.

 

"I don't know if I said anything.“ He says, cringing at the memory. “I got really flustered and left." He concedes. _Why did he think this was a good story to tell her?_

 

"It really sounds to me like he was just trying to make conversation." She says, trying to hold back her laughter.

 

"He was insinuating."

 

"Yeah I don't buy it." She stops trying, laughing loud enough to get a few of the other people in the Muddy Rudder to turn their heads.

 

"He was!" He protests stubbornly.

 

"Come think of it, this only convinces me the rumors were true." She says when she has composed herself.

 

"How?" He says skeptically. _Not this again._

 

"Oh Butch, you were so sweet on me you mistook friendly, innocuous conversation for my dad interrogating you about your feelings."

 

"You're innocuous." He throws back at her.

 

"Sweet of you to say.” She says, making a show of furrowing her brow like she’s thinking hard. ”Yep, I've made up my mind. Nothing you say can convince me you weren't deeply in love with me."

 

"Bullshit, my intentions were honorable." He says gruffly, this is not where the conversation was supposed to go.

 

"Butch-man in looove. With meeee." Annie sings, ever louder as his face gets more sullen. He knows she is just teasing, but it hits a bit too close to home.

 

It has felt like they’ve been teetering on the edge of something happening between them for a while now, especially since they reunited in the Citadel. There’s been stolen glances, lingering touches, and sleeping closer together than necessary when forced to share a mattress. But he hasn’t wanted to push it, not before he knows she wants it too, and not before she has made it explicitly clear she’s ready.  Butch has reluctantly admitted to himself it’s quite a bit more than a dumb crush this time, but it’s not worth sacrificing their friendship for. Nothing is. So he teases her back.

 

"Get over yourself. You are, and have always been, far too much of a goody two shoes for me anyway." He says condescendingly. She just laughs at that.

 

"Really now. I'm sure you had elaborate day dreams about how you were going to sweep me off my feet. Tell me, did you fantasize about our wedding?" She leans forward on her elbows, resting her chin in her hands, making big dreamy eyes at him. He really wants to just grab her across the table and kiss her then, but instead he flicks a cap at her, which does get her to at least stop making that face.

 

"Which is why nobody would ever believe a rumor like that. It's too... what's the word... far-fetched." Butch continues as if he hadn't heard her at all.

 

"Preposterous" She says, referring to nobody believing the rumor.

 

"Yeah, that's the word for it." He says, referring to anyone believing it.

 

"Are you insinuating..." She starts, just for him to flick another cap at her face. "Are you insinuating that I, as your fellow Tunnel Snake, as second in command, am too much of a goody two shoes?" It’s adorable how she takes it as an insult, he thinks, when that’s the last thing he meant by it.

 

"Firstly, if I had a second in command, it would be Dogmeat. Secondly...” He pauses theatrically, and revels in how it makes her seethe. “You're on probation."

 

"I'm on probation?" She says, dangerous glint in her eye.

 

"Yep. Until enough proof has been given that you're cool enough for this gang." He says nonchalantly, leaning back on his chair. She stands up, slamming both hands down on the table in front of him and leaning forward to look him deep in the eyes, squinting angrily.

 

"Oh you just watch me, DeLoria." She growls. The front legs of his chair hit the floor again with a loud bang.

 

"Wait... where are you...?" He shouts after her as she turns on her heel and winds her way through the crowd.

 

"Watch me." She shouts back.

 

He curiously watches as she confidently saunters up to the bar, but then before he knows it, they’re both standing out in the stairwell, Belle Bonny’s angry shouting about how they need to go sleep it off ringing in their ears.

 

"What's wrong with you!?" He turns to Annie as Belle Bonny slams the door to the Muddy Rudder.

 

"Shh." Is all she says, finger pressed to her lips, eyebrow raised conspiratorially.

 

"Why did you go and get us cut off!?" He continues, raising the volume of his voice.

 

"Shh." She says more forcefully, pressing her finger to his lips instead. With the other hand, she carefully gives him a glimpse of the bottle of whisky hidden in her jacket. So _that’s_ why she stumbled into the bar like that.

 

"Oh." He says.

 

"That's right: Oh. Sorry you ever doubted me?" She says with a mischievous grin, and he becomes acutely aware of how close she is standing and how she still hasn’t removed her finger from his lips. She must have noticed him freezing up, because she takes a step back.

 

"Yes, yes, very sorry.” He says quickly. “But where are you planning on us drinking that?"

 

"The deck?" She suggests, eyebrow raised again.

 

"After you, my lady." He says with an indicating bow.

 

"Chivalry, after your grave insult to my person..."

 

"After you, my fellow Tunnel Snake?" He tries, same indicating bow.

 

"Thank you." She trudges ahead up the stairs, nose held high in the air.

 

The fresh air hits them like a wall when they open the door to the deck, and it’s welcome compared to the stale air of the Muddy Rudder. She leads the way, resorting to dragging him with her when he thinks he isn’t moving quickly enough. He protests, of course, but it’s mostly for show.

 

They sit down at the very edge of where the ship has broken in two, legs dangling over the side while leaning against the railing. Butch focuses his eyes ahead of him, it is _very_ far down to the water.

 

“Looks like someone else had the same idea.” Annie chuckles, indicating to a pile of empty beer bottles while unscrewing the lid of the whisky. “Aaah… stolen goods taste so much better, don’t you think?” She says as she takes a sip.

 

“Fine, you’ve made your point, you’re capable of being an asshole too.” He says and snatches the bottle out of her hand. She just shoves him slightly with her shoulder as a response.

 

They sit there for a while in silence, watching the dark sky descend on the broken bow of the ship, shoulders rubbing together.

 

“You know, Harkness told me that this boat was used to transfer bomber planes for the war. They could anchor it wherever they wanted, and the planes would just take off from the boat and fly to bomb China and shit.” Butch says contemplatively, the thought of trusting a big hunk of metal to keep him afloat in the ocean making his stomach turn a bit.

 

“Could you imagine building something this huge, just to use it to destroy things?” She says, he can feel her sighing.

 

“That’s what war’s about though, crushing your enemy until only dust is left.” He closes his fist in the air, then releases the imaginary dust of his enemies to the wind.

 

“But if they could build boats that are essentially floating islands, and mass produce vehicles that could fly, like just take a second to think about how amazing that is.” She says, suddenly incensed. “Couldn’t they have focused that energy and resources to build a better society? Work out whatever issue they had with China?”

 

“You’re ever the idealist.” He says fondly. “The Chinese were communists though.”

 

“Do you even know what communism is?” She asks.

 

“They hate the American free way of life, and eh… seek to poison the minds of our children. Or maybe it was just poisoning them in general.” He racks his brain for any concrete information given by their school textbooks, or the countless pre-war newspapers and books he’d read on the road. “Nope, do you?”

 

“Not really, Mr. Brotch never explained that, did he? Just said it was terrible, and he was just reading from the textbook anyway. How do we know they were the bad guys and not us?” She says quietly. He has never known anyone to take the evils of the world as personally as her.

 

“They probably had crazy scientists breeding dragons though, that’s why they had to be wiped out.” He says, determined to get a laugh out of her. He is successful, and for a second his heart beats a bit faster.

 

“You are the only one that believes that.” She scoffs.

 

“How great could the world have been though, if they were willing to risk bombing it to… this? Maybe we’re better off.” He says with a shrug.

 

“They can’t have meant for it to end up like this though?” She says, scrunching her nose.

 

“Probably not.” It’s his turn to sigh.

 

“Maybe what they were fighting for was worth the risk? Whatever it was.” She says, staring off into the distance.

 

He fiddles a bit with the map on his Pip-Boy, then leans over so she can see it clearly.

 

“From where we are sitting now. That’s east, with 125 miles to the coast.” He indicates east with his other hand, then pointing in the opposite direction. “That’s west, 3200 miles to the coast, give or take.” He lets his free hand fall to rest on her shoulders. Just for balance of course.

 

“That’s going to take months.” She groans.

 

“We better get started then. Want to start tomorrow?” For every day that passes, he can’t help getting a bit more restless.

 

“I plan on being thoroughly hungover tomorrow.” She says with a sideway glance.

 

“Fine, tomorrow afternoon it is.” He says shortly, and she shoves him slightly with her elbow. She has promised they are going _soon_ , she just has a few things to take care of first. She has never presented him a list of these things, and he suspects it’s more her creating a buffer for herself, cause as much as she despises the Capital Wasteland, what lies beyond it is completely unknown.

 

“Are you scared, Nosebleed?” He quips, eyebrow raised, expecting another elbow to the ribs, but it never comes.

 

“As if you’re not?” She says, turning her head to look him square in the eyes, daring him to claim he’s not.

 

“Sure.” He admits with a shrug. “But aren’t you curious to see what’s out there? We’re the Tunnel Snakes! Even the Capital Wasteland couldn’t finish us off, I’d like to see the rest of the world try.” At least his excited foolhardiness earns him a small laugh from her.

 

“While we could theoretically head tomorrow, there are a few things we need to sort first.” She says with a deep breath.

 

“Like what?” He challenges.

 

“Say bye to Moira, for one.” She says.

 

“Sure, but Megaton is on the way.” He pushes.

 

“And we need to do something about the house.” She says after a second’s thought.

 

“Can’t you just sell it?”

 

“To whom? Besides, it was a gift so it wouldn’t feel right.”

 

“A big pile of caps would feel right to me.” He says, and there comes the elbow just as he had stopped steeling himself for it.

 

“I was thinking I’d leave it with MacCready and Lucy.” She says after a while. “It won’t be long before they’re leaving Little Lamplight, and I just want to give them a bit of a head start before the wasteland tries to swallow them whole.”

 

“Fair enough. The warm fuzzy feeling of doing right by others feels okay too.” He says, feeling he’s maybe pushed her a bit much, so he adds: “We don’t have to go straight away if you don’t want to, we can wait until you’re ready.”

 

She meets his gaze, and once again he is acutely aware of how close she is.

 

“I’m ready. I want to.” She is almost whispering, her eyes are searching his face, and he is finding it exceptionally difficult to organize his thoughts. So he stands up, making a show of stretching his legs. _Get a grip_ , _she’s talking about being ready to head west, nothing else, you jerk_. She is taking a swig from the bottle again, but when she offers it to him, he declines. Enough alcohol for tonight.

 

“How far do you think you could throw this bottle?” He says, picking up one of the discarded beer bottles that has just caught his attention. She stands up, squinting to toward the broken off bow, shielding her eyes with her hand even though the moon provides very little light.

 

“I could easily hit the other side.” She says with a confident grin.

 

“Prove it.” He says, handing her the bottle. She doesn’t hit the other side, but she is very close, so she challenges him to do better. He can’t do it either, but he can chuck the bottle and then shoot it, shattering it far above their heads.

 

“You sure have improved in the past year. Must be because you had me as your teacher.” The genuinely impressed whistle she lets out spurs him on, and he does it again.

 

“By the way, I lied.” Confidence has clearly gone to his head, and the words are out before he has a chance to think about it.

 

“About what?” She says, curiosity piqued.

 

“About never having had a crush on you.” He says, being quick to add. “But it was when we were like fourteen, at nineteen I was honestly just interested in being friends.” Her face is unreadable, but then splits into a shit-eating grin.

 

“Wait, wait. You’re admitting to having had a crush on the goody two shoes nosebleed?” She says.

 

“I suppose. I thought you were cute, especially when you got angry when I teased you.” _What’s the harm in telling her_ , he thinks, but doesn’t let slip that the last part still rings true.

 

“So what happened, why didn’t you make a grand declaration of love?” She almost sounds disappointed.

 

“I was fourteen and it was a dumb crush that lasted for like two weeks, pretty sure you were head over heels for Paul at the time anyway. I came to my senses.” He shoots another bottle, the pieces of glass falling like rain into the water far below.

 

“Aaw Butch, we could have been childhood sweethearts!” She is leaning her back against the railing now, fully turned toward him.

 

“Pfft, you would have just turned me down.” He says, not quite meeting her gaze.

 

“You have a single data point of me turning you down, that’s nothing to base your predictions on! Maybe fourteen year old Annie would have fallen for your bad boy charms.” She teases, but there’s something pensive in her voice. She chucks a bottle for him, he hits it as easily as he did the ones before.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” He whoops. “Seriously Annie, can you believe you turned this down?” He adds, before he can stop himself. He’s really pushing it now, but the way she smiles at him makes it really difficult not to.

 

“Somehow I can. Jeez, Butch, could you imagine if we had actually slept together when we first met again?” She says, and he really regrets bringing it up now.

 

“I believe I _was_ imagining it at the time.” At least it makes her laugh.

 

“Shush. It would have been a disaster, we definitely would not have been here now if we had. I was in a terrible place at the time, and so were you. It would have killed any chance we had of being friends.”

 

“So you keep saying. But yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He says, because he knows she is, but the disappointment still prickles somewhere deep down. He chooses to ignore it, and instead picks up the last bottle to chuck. _It’s fine like this. They’re in a good place._

 

“I mean, it would be completely different if we slept together now.” She says just as he’s thrown the bottle, so matter-of-factly, he doesn’t even register what she has said at first. When it does sink in though, he freezes in place, gun drawn and aimed, but the bottle rapidly falling out of range.

 

She’s still standing with her back leaning on the railing, still smiling at him, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes now, like she’s daring him to close the gap between them and let them tumble off the edge.

 

He wants to make a suave joke, to mask the sudden vulnerability that is welling up inside him, maybe ask _are you propositioning me?_ with one eyebrow cocked, a call back to when the roles had been reversed. That way, the ball would be back in her corner, and she would have to make the final move. But this is far too important for jokes. She’s far too important.

 

So what he actually says is: “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.” She says and takes a step forward, eyes firmly fixed on his. “Are you?”

 

And that’s all he needs to hear.

 

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” He says, taking the final step.

 

It’s rough at first, they crash together, lips desperately seeking each other. His hands are grasping at her waist, the leather of the jacket he gave her so long ago coarse underneath his fingertips. Her hands are firmly placed in his hair and she runs them through his curls as the kiss mellows. He pulls away then, searching her eyes for any sign she has changed her mind. A question has half formed on his lips, but he doesn't get a chance to ask it as she kisses him again. This time, it starts as mellow as the first one ended. They take their time, slowly exploring but without hesitation, tongues begging for access, knowing that it will be granted and committing the feel of the other's lips to memory. It feels like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter I wrote, and as a result the first draft had the characters in a very different place than they are by the end of The Citadel chapters. After rewriting it, it still doesn't feel quite right, some bits feel a bit half-baked, but I'm not talented enough to really know what to do with it at the moment. It's a nice lesson though, in how different a place you can end up in if you just let your characters react to the situation and spin on that, rather than trying to keep some sort of outline. Also, how much better flow you have when you're about 20,000 words in.
> 
> Anyway, that's them having finally gotten the first kiss over and done with, now the epilogue awaits.


	14. Heading West (Epilogue)

They awake tangled in sweaty bedsheets and each other.

 

“So that happened.” She says when she finds his eyes, a small smile playing on her lips like she knows something he doesn’t.

 

“Yeah.” He exhales, but he can’t help a crease of worry forming between his eyebrows. “Do you regret it?” He asks, unsure whether he wants to hear the answer.

 

She reaches out and smooths out the crease with her thumb. “Nope.” She says simply, then checks her Pip-Boy. The time reads 4:48 AM.

 

“Let’s go back to sleep.” She says, and with that she turns over and snuggles up close so that they’re spooning. He lies completely still for a second, wondering where he is allowed to place his hands now. He decides to place his hand on her naked breast. He can feel her laugh more than he can hear it, but it’s all the confirmation he needs. Sleep comes easy after that.

 

They head out on the road again later that night. They don’t discuss the previous night or what it meant, but there’s a spring in their steps that wasn’t there before. Butch wonders if he should ask her how she feels about it, but for once he doesn’t want to do the push and pull to coax her into talking.

 

He also wonders if it will happen again, but that’s a question that gets answered before he even has a chance to ask it, because it does. They have only just stepped inside the door of their Megaton house, before she gives him a mischievous look and pushes him onto the sofa. Then she’s straddling him, hands working fervently on the zipper in his jeans. The questions can wait, he decides, as he melts into her kiss.

 

On their final loop around the Capital Wasteland, their bedrolls always end up right next to each other, and they sleep wrapped up in each other when they don’t have to sleep in shifts. There aren’t many safe spots where they can completely forget about the outside world, but they manage to find them.

 

Upon the return to Megaton, Annie disappears into the Craterside Supply for over an hour, and Butch decides to just spend that time sitting with Dogmeat at the table outside the door of the house that soon won’t be theirs anymore. Watching the people wander dangerously close to the bomb Annie claims has been disarmed, he thinks he is going to miss this place a little bit after all. They have spent considerably more time on the road than they ever spent here, so the wandering will just be more of the same, even if it is new roads. But it is going to be weird to no longer have a fixed location to return to, only the unknown of further west.

 

The farewell drink in Moriarty’s Saloon they planned on having on their last night first turns into several farewell drinks, and then it turns into a full-blown party. Pride swells in his chest as yet another familiar face from the town wants to buy the Savior of the Wasteland yet another drink, and he tells the story of how she single-handedly fought off hundreds of Enclave soldiers riding on fire-breathing Deathclaws just to give the Wasteland clean water, swearing he hasn’t embellished a single detail.

 

“You and your big, dumb mouth.” She chides fondly as she pulls him away from his astonished audience.

 

Later that night he pushes her into a backroom of the Saloon to show her just how great his big, dumb mouth can be.

 

They leave at first light the following morning. He can’t help but well up a bit as they wave goodbye to the ramshackle town when heading over the hill. At first the roads look exactly the same, but the further they wander, the more the landscape changes. When they reach mountains they decide to take a break from the road, just for a bit. They even find an old cabin to set up camp in. Every day they explore, hunt and forage, just to return to their temporary home at night. Butch starts growing a beard, Annie teases him for looking old, and just for a bit turns into a month.

 

They are laying wrapped up in each other’s arms one morning, catching their breaths after lazily having made love in the early light, when she turns to him to ask:

 

“What do you want, Butch?” It’s an open ended question, apropos nothing.

 

He leans close, running his lips along her neck and whispers: “I want to lick every inch of you, and then do it again just so I can commit what it tastes like to memory. What do you want?”

 

“I want to…” She runs her fingers up his naked chest, chewing her lip as she thinks. “Every morning I want to see you make _that_ face.”

 

“Dirty.” He says, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

“Well, that too. No, I mean _that_ face.” She is blushing now, looking up at him through her eyelashes. ”The face you make when you look at me like I’m the most extraordinary thing, like being here right now with me is the only thing that matters.”

 

It’s like there’s a fire in his chest, and it makes it a bit difficult to breath. He meets her eyes, knowing he should respond, but the words are stuck, he can’t find ones that are quite right for all that he is feeling in that second.

 

“ _That_ is the one I meant.” She whispers with a lopsided grin, stretching up to kiss him, but he pulls away, locking eyes with her.

 

“I love you.” He says then, wondering why it has taken him so long to arrive on those words, when it has been true since even before they first kissed.

 

“Good. I love you too.”

 

And then they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and Butch thinks to himself that the future has never looked brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks. It's a bit half-baked, and there's a bunch of ideas that were never implemented because they sprung to mind after I published it. However, it's the first piece of fiction I've written in a long time, and it was fun. Like, really fun. So, hopefully there's more where that came from.
> 
> Also, thanks for all the kudoses and kind comments, this really is a lovely little community!

**Author's Note:**

> It's so nice to come to AO3 and discover there's still a handful of people refusing to let this ship sink. 
> 
> So I replayed the game about a year ago, and basically the headcanon for why my LW was putting up with Butch, other than the fact that he cracks me up, got too big for my head to be able to contain it. I haven't written fiction in a very, very long time, and I'm just doing this for fun, so unsolicited criticism is welcome, so to speak. Also, let me know if I have left any Briticisms in, writing in American English was a lot harder than I anticipated. The whole thing is pretty much already finished, I'll just be uploading chapters as I go through and attempt to remove the most blatant of all the errors I've made.


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